


DRAFT: Tiberius

by MusicalLuna



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, MCU UA, On Account of the Emotionally Abusive Relationship, Romance, Steve and Tony's Relationship is (Hopefully) Very Consensual, The Character Considers it Consensual, WIP, draft, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2018-08-11 11:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 60
Words: 73,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7889044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First draft.</p><p>When Tony's boyfriend Tiberius opens their relationship, Tony agrees, because what else is he going to do? He wants him to be happy.</p><p>That's when he meets Steve Rogers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightwalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwalker/gifts), [satbiym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/satbiym/gifts).



> based off of a [post](http://musicalluna.tumblr.com/post/98187270320/pixieknight10805-based-off-of-this-post-so) by [pixieknight10805](http://tmblr.co/m7rIzWM3AvFapqNqhZjUT4w)
> 
>  **Warnings** for emotionally abusive behavior, dubious consent, language, and sexual content throughout.

“I’ve been thinking,” Tiberius says, sitting back into the cradle of Tony’s hips. He shifts, pinching Tony’s erection between their bodies and Tony winces. He bites his lips and tries to ignore it, curling his hands tentatively around Ty’s thighs.

“Oh?”

Tony’s tired. Hell, he’s exhausted and he’d been hoping a quick fuck would be enough to satisfy Ty until Tony’s gotten at least a solid eight hours of sleep under his belt, but it looks like he won’t be so lucky.

He gets it, really. Tony’s been in Europe for the better part of three weeks and he’s missed Ty, too. It’s just… _god_ , he’s tired.

“Tony,” Ty says, a sharp edge to his voice.

Shit, he’d stopped listening.

“Yeah, hey, hi, sorry, sorry.”

Tiberius frowns at him. “Are you paying attention now?”

“Yes. Uh huh, 110%. You were thinking,” Tony prompts, stomach squirming guiltily.

“You know, it’s actually this kind of thing that’s brought me to this point.”

Tony’s stomach drops, a twisting sensation behind the arc reactor, panic building in his chest like pressure in a champagne bottle. His fingers clench around Ty’s legs.

Tiberius reaches to cup Tony’s face, his thumb tracing Tony’s lower lip. “I don’t want to break up,” he says, amusement coloring his voice. “But I do want to open our relationship.”

Tony swallows, trying to figure out how to phrase what he says next without making Tiberius angry. “Oh, that’s, ah…kinky.” He struggles to get out the next part. “This is…this is because I screwed up?”

Tiberius smiles down at him, tilting his head so that his long blonde hair falls out of his eyes. “No more than usual,” he jokes.

Tony smiles back, though he doesn’t feel much like smiling.

Tiberius presses his thumb into Tony’s mouth, effectively holding his tongue. He fixates on it, eyes gone nearly black. “I don’t think it’s fair that we have to be celibate when we’re traveling. And I miss sleeping with women, don’t you?”

Ty draws his hand back, sliding it down to rest over the arc reactor, and Tony knows if he says the wrong thing it’ll bite him in the ass. “I dunno,” he says, voice rasping from a dry throat, “you’re enough for me, Ty.”

That’s apparently the right answer, because Tiberius smiles at him and leans down to kiss Tony’s mouth. He rocks his hips and Tony hisses. “So from now on this is an open relationship, you agree?”

“Is that really— I mean, do we have to?” Tony says, and he can hear himself whining. Tiberius is never going to listen to him sounding like that. “I like things the way they are.”

“You like me being dissatisfied,” Tiberius says, resentment thick in his voice. “You _like_ that I’m unhappy?” He swings his leg over Tony’s body and retreats.

Tony’s heart jumps into his throat. “No— _No_ , that’s not what I’m saying at all, Ty— Of course I don’t want you to be unhappy. I _love_ you. I’m lucky!”

The look he gets is dubious. “Then why won’t you do this for me?”

For a second, Tony flounders. He doesn’t _want_ to see Tiberius with other people, but if it will make him happy then why the hell is he fighting against it so hard? It’s not like they both haven’t had relationships before. It’s just a little extra freedom, right? And Ty will always come back to Tony after. “All right,” he says, “okay. If it’ll make you happy, then yeah, let’s give it a shot.”

Tiberius beams at him and in thirty seconds, Tony’s flat on his back on the bed again, with Ty straddling him. “This is going to be fun,” Ty breathes in his ear, and Tony musters a smile. He wraps his arms around Ty and holds on, like he can keep Ty there and convince him that he’s enough.

Tiberius fucks him into the mattress. He’s not careful, which is probably for the best—Tony’s pretty sure he’d have fallen asleep if not for the edge of discomfort. As it is, Ty falls asleep almost instantly after he comes. Tony doesn’t, but he’s too tired to care. He curls up inside the circle of Tiberius’ arms and finally, finally sleeps.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok yo, i’m sorry this is so short, i am like, totally baffled as to what to do with the pre-meeting-steve parts
> 
> reminder that this is based off of pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> i have made a tentative decision to set this in a hydra-less, chiller version of the mcu, post-iron man 2, p much canon to that point, after which it becomes wildly au??
> 
> basically things were not as crazy and they (the council) weren’t as dead set on weapons and so fury actually did assemble the avengers and started working on making them a team, sans tony because tony re-met ty during the iron man 2 events and natasha was like ‘yeah, this dude he’s into has way too much influence on tony so that’s not a good plan"
> 
> so everybody is peripherally aware that there are other people, but they are not familiar with details, because tony was too busy being seduced/brain-bended by ty to really look into the whole avengers thing like he did in the actual mcu and the avengers don’t really know about tony (except natasha) except in the wow-famous-dude-who-occasionally-flies-in-that-cool-suit
> 
> but ty has kept tony on a pretty tight leash and so he hasn’t done nearly as much mission running as he would have in the mcu or creating as it has hindered his creativity, but he is in the process of setting up stark tower in new york, which is where we will lay our scene, or something, and i seriously welcome any and all thoughts because i’m like ????????
> 
> anyway, here’s the latest scene, sorry it’s short???
> 
> No warnings for this bit.

Two afternoons later Tony tilts his head back so Pepper can get at his collar to fix it and says, “Is it weird for me to ask if you’ve been in an open relationship?”

Pepper’s hands still for half a second before she says warily, “Weird for you? No.” Her voice is somehow more suspicious when she says, “Why are you asking?”

“No reason,” Tony tells her, and he can feel her eyes on his face picking apart his reaction. “Just curious.” She keeps looking and the words tumble out. “Ty and I—Ty and me?—we’re doing the open thing.”

A very pursed silence follows that admission. Pepper’s delicate fingers take his jaw and tilt his head back down. He resists the urge to fidget when she looks him in the eye. “Who opened it?”

“We both agreed—”

“Tony,” she says sharply.

“I mean, sure, it was Ty’s idea, but that doesn’t mean—”

Pepper sighs, her fingers gentling on his face. She cups his cheeks. “Tony, what are you doing?”

He glances down at his suit, his impeccably shined shoes. “Getting ready to smile and wave for the product launch?”

“I meant with your life. Your love life in particular. Why are you letting him do this?”

“'Do this’?” Tony echoes. “Do what? He’s not doing anything. We talked and we agreed—”

“Tony, please, you can’t keep doing this. I know Tiberius means a lot to you, but over the last three years his behavior is increasingly concerning and I can’t just stand by and watch you sabotage yourself like this. You deserve better. You deserve better than manipulation and—“ She stops, her eyes narrowing. “Did he threaten you?”

“No!”

“He has to have done something, Tony, because I can’t see any reason why you would agree to an open relationship—”

Tony’s voice raises of its own volition. “Hey, mind your own business, Potts. Do your job.”

He regrets it instantly. Pepper’s face shutters and she steps back, her hands dropping to fold demurely in front of her. “Of course, I apologize I overstepped. Will that be all, Mister Stark?”

Pepper’s been in his corner for almost fifteen years now and Tony feels like an absolute heel throwing around his weight, but he can’t let Pepper talk about Ty that way. It’s not Ty’s fault Tony can’t give him everything he wants. That’s on him. They’re his shortcomings.

From the get-go, Pepper was leery when Tony ran into Ty in Monaco during the palladium mess, but Ty had made that whole fucking mess tolerable and Tony’s not about to fuck up the best thing he’s got going for him. Not even for Pepper.

“No,” he says, “that’s…all.”

She nods crisply. “Very well.”

Tony’s stomach twists as she turns and walks for the door. He bites back an apology, hands clenched into tight fists.

At the door, Pepper pauses and turns her head. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.“


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based off of a post by pixieknight10805
> 
> Warnings for emotionally abusive behavior, dubious consent, language. Nothing explicit.
> 
> Another short bit, but Steve is looming, I promise!

Tiberius starts seeing a woman almost immediately.

Well, “seeing” is probably too mild. Starts fucking is more apt. Tony knows because he walks in on them in the kitchen three days after he alienates Pepper. Then again in the hall two days after that.

That same night Ty hooks his chin over Tony’s shoulder in the workshop and slides his hand over Tony’s fly. Somehow, Tony manages to work up the guts to direct him away. “Hey, I’m happy if you are,” he says, “but if we’re going to be seeing other people they ought to get tested, don’t you think?”

Tiberius draws back, ice blue eyes fixed on Tony’s face for a long time, and Tony feels sweat start to tickle under his arms.

If he says no, maybe Pepper’s right. Maybe Ty is asking too much.

“Fair enough,” Tiberius says, finally. “We’ve both been clean this long, we shouldn’t risk it.”

“Right,” Tony says, and he should feel pleased, but his stomach sinks.

Twenty-four hours later Ty hands him an STI panel and starts unbuttoning Tony’s jeans. His lips graze Tony’s ear as he murmurs, “I’m going to fuck you and then I’m going to go upstairs and fuck her.”

Tony bites down on the urge to beg him to shut up, and twists around to kiss him instead. He gives Ty everything he’s got, thinking maybe if he tries harder, puts more of himself into their relationship, he can convince Ty he doesn’t need anyone else.

He winds up sprawled on his ass, alone, on the cold, hard floor fifteen minutes later.

Pressing the heels of his palms into his stinging eyes, Tony says, “JARVIS, I’m going out. Save progress.”

“As you say, sir,” JARVIS replies.

Tony hauls himself to his feet wincing a little, and hobbles over to the cabinet of spare clothes he keeps in the corner. He pulls on a long-sleeved maroon tee and a black hoodie, digs a black baseball cap out of the back. He slips his feet into his favorite sneakers and then heads for the elevator, the lights of the workshop going dark in his wake.

He needs a drink.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> *trumpets" AND INTRODUCING STEVE ROGERS
> 
> No warnings, except for maybe disgusting cuteness.

“Look, man, I’m not trying to pressure you,” Sam says, and Steve leans back in his seat with a sigh, fingers toying with the condensation slicking the sides of his beer. “But it’s been three years since they pulled you out of the ice and you’ve been making noise like this is something you want.”

“I know you’re not,” Steve assures him. “It’s just…tough, you know? Everything’s different nowadays. I don’t have that much in common with people.”

Sam looks as unimpressed by that excuse as he has every other time Steve’s invoked it. “Tell me again how much you had in common with Peggy Carter,” he says, and Steve rolls his eyes, takes a sip of his beer.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Well, are you or are you not interested in getting back out there?” Sam presses, expression serious.

Steve waffles. “Yeah. I don’t know. I think so.”

“Then we take baby steps,” Sam says with an air of infinite reasonableness. “Just offer to buy somebody a drink. Anybody. You want out, I’ll come extract you. Easy, right? Painless?”

Steve huffs, smiling around the rim of the bottle. “Easy for you to say.” He glances around the bar, which is totally devoid of people except for the bartender. She’s a big girl with black-rimmed eyeglasses and lipstick a shade of red that reminds him with a pang of Peggy.

He leans forward over the bartop. “Excuse me, do you think I could buy you a drink?”

The smile she’s been trying to hold back breaks loose and she looks up at him, grinning. “I’d love that, but A, I’m working, and B, you’d be spinning your wheels—I’m aro-ace.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Maybe another time then?” He holds up a hand. “No romantic stuff, I promise.”

She tilts her head, points a finger at him. “No sexy stuff either.”

Steve lifts his other hand in surrender. “No sexy stuff,” he agrees solemnly. She beams at him and Steve smiles back at her. Well, it’s not a date, but he’s not too sorry about that.

“'Aro-ace’?” Sam mouths at him.

“Aromantic and asexual,” Steve says, pleased for once to be the one doing the explaining.

“And you know this how?” Sam asks, tilting his head curiously.

Steve shrugs. “Spend a lot of time on the Internet. When Natasha found out I was interested in men too, she said I should look up ‘bisexual’ and one thing lead to another. It’s amazing how people have developed the language to talk about this stuff.”

Sam’s head is resting on his fist, elbow propped on the bar, his expression warm and amused. “Bisexual, huh?”

Steve grins and takes a swig of beer. “Yeah, did I forget to mention?”

“Mighta slipped your mind,” Sam says and then looks around. “All right, we’re doin’ this. Next person who comes in.” He pokes Steve in the shoulder and Steve chuckles.

“Next person who comes in it is.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> No warnings. JUST DISGUSTING CUTE YEA HERE WE GO

Tony doesn’t go far. There’s a little bar a couple blocks from Stark Tower squeezed into the basement of a building between a jewelry shop and a pub-type joint.

He’s freezing by the time he makes it inside, to the point where the wall of heat that he pushes through as he enters almost hurts. In retrospect, he probably should have put on more than a hoodie in mid-January.

The bar is empty except for two men sitting at the far corner, each nursing a beer. He slides onto a stool at the opposite end, still shivering, and he’s waiting for the barkeep to turn around when the blond does first and looks directly at him. Tony resists the urge to pull his hood down over his face. The man looks surprised, and then _very_ interested.

Dammit, he must recognize Tony. God, he hopes he’s not going to regret going out without the suit or Happy in tow.

To his surprise, the man stays where he is, just leans forward a little and says, “Excuse me, could I buy you a drink?”

Tony blinks at him, and then frowns. He studies the man’s face looking for signs of recognition, of malice, of any sort of logic behind that request.

But he’s earnest, a hopeful little twist to the wrinkles in his brow.

“Uh,” Tony says.

The man shifts back, expression turning inexplicably shy. His smile goes crooked. It’s endearing, and wow, look at those shoulders. “You’re not interested. I’m sorry—”

But why shouldn’t he? It’s just a drink, and the guy is—well, he’s smoking hot, if Tony’s being honest; if he’s a fan or something he’s playing it cool. Tiberius is taking full advantage of their new relationship status, why shouldn’t he? “Yeah,” he hears himself say. “Yeah, okay.”

The man smiles and Tony swallows hard, heart lurching in his chest. That’s one hell of a smile. “What’ll you have?” he asks.

Tony glances at the beers in their hands, considers the scotch he’d been planning on ordering, and then nods to their bottles. “I’ll have what you’ve got.”

“You got it,” the bartender replies cheerfully.

The other man peeks out from behind the blond and splutters, choking on his beer when he sees Tony.

“Sam?” the blond says and turns, patting the guy gingerly on the back. “Geez, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sam wheezes and Tony braces for his reaction.

He’s surprised again when Sam merely eyes him suspiciously, saying nothing. Interesting.

Tony looks between the two of them and says, “So do you always hit on guys when you’re already out with somebody?”

The blond’s head jerks up, horror stealing across his face. “What? No! We’re not—”

Sam looks exasperated at his friend’s loss of composure. “I’m here for moral support. His name is Steve, by the by.”

Steve turns a bright shade of pink and groans. “Sorry. I should have—oh man.”

Tony grins. “You’re cute. The whole built-like-a-brick-shithouse boy-next-door combo really works for you.” He’s delighted when that makes the shade of pink darken. He props his cheek on his fist and thanks the bartender when she brings his beer. Steve continues to sit there looking mortified. Tony raises an eyebrow. “So did you just buy me this drink because I looked thirsty, or are you gonna—” He glances meaningfully at the seat next to him.

Sam chokes down what sounds like a laugh. Steve elbows him. Then he takes a few fortifying sips of his beer to calm his obvious nerves—god, is he really real?—and gets up.

Tony smiles as Steve slides onto the stool next to him. “You’re funny. No embarrassment whatsoever when you asked to buy me a drink, but now…”

Steve huffs and runs a hand over the top of his head, skims it down to curl around the back of his neck. Tony watches the muscles in his arm move and flex and suddenly feels a lot warmer than he did ten seconds ago. “Well, I know what to do when someone says no.”

“Pro-tip,” Tony says, “generally when you ask someone if you can buy them a drink, it’s an excuse to talk to them.”

“ _That’s_ where I’ve been going wrong,” Steve says and Tony surprises himself with a laugh.

Steve fiddles with his bottle, eyes following the movement of his own fingers. “You never said what your name was,” he says, and looks up to meet Tony’s gaze. His eyes are ridiculously, absurdly blue, like Ty’s, but with a warmth totally unlike them.

“Tony,” he says, throat suddenly dry.

Steve smiles, and for the first time, Tony’s glad Tiberius wanted to go open. “What do you do, Tony?”

Tony huffs in wonder. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Steve looks taken aback, that blush creeping into his cheeks again. “I’m sorry, should I?” He glances back at Sam, and then his shoulders slump in something akin to defeat. “I’m a little behind the times,” he admits.

Tony sips thoughtfully at his beer; he’s not a celebrity, technically, not in such a way that his face is household knowledge, but he’s not exactly low-profile either. “Stark Industries?” he tries. “Stark Tech? Any of that familiar?”

Steve’s eyebrows go up. “Yeah.” He pulls out his phone and Tony smiles. It’s one of the more basic Stark touch phones. “Are you the CEO?”

Tony grins. “Not anymore. But I _am_ still Tony Stark.”

“Oh,” Steve says. Then his eyes go a little wide. _“Oh.”_ Another look over his shoulder, a little longer this time. He can’t read the return expression on Sam’s face.

Holding out his bottle, Tony says, “Did you want to retract?”

“What?” Steve frowns. “No—why would I—because you’re famous?”

Tony shrugs. “People either tend to really like it, or they hate it.”

Steve hums. “Must make getting to know people hard.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Tony says, and drinks a few mouthfuls.

“I did a few tours doing publicity,” Steve volunteers after a brief silence. “It’s strange how people think they know you, from a thing like that, without having ever met you.”

That piques Tony’s interest. “You’ve been in the limelight? Anywhere I might have seen?”

Steve’s smile goes crooked again. “It was a long time ago.”

Tony snorts and gives him a pointed once-over. “You’re what, in your late twenties?”

“I’m older than I look,” Steve says, and at the end of the bar, Sam coughs to cover a laugh. There’s a story there, Tony can tell, but he doesn’t press. His phone vibrates against his thigh and Tony pulls it out on pure reflex.

“Sorry,” he says absently.

His heart jumps and starts to rabbit in his chest even though he’s done nothing wrong when he sees that it’s Ty.

_Where are you?_

The phone keeps buzzing in his hand as more texts come in.

_Tony?_

_Tony, this isn’t funny, where are you??_

_Are you all right?_

_Hello?_

“Shit,” he says, and then more vehemently, “ _Shit!_ ” when he realizes it’s been almost an hour and a half.

“Is everything okay?” Steve asks, uncertain.

That jolts Tony out of his own head and he feels a thousand times worse when he sees the concerned expression on Steve’s face. Jesus, he’s been sitting here with this guy while Tiberius freaked out, what is _wrong_ with him?

He stands abruptly. “I have to go.”

The dismay on Steve’s face tugs at the edge of the arc reactor.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it. The phone buzzes in his hand again and Tony turns to go.

“Wait,” Steve blurts. A hand catches around Tony’s and he stops, shocked. Steve’s face turns red, but he says, “I—I’d like to see you again.”

Tony’s mouth drops open. “What? _Really?_ ”

“Yes,” Steve says, and then lifts Tony’s hand, turning it over to press a cocktail napkin into it. “Call me. If you want.”

He lets go, and Tony’s hand curls tight around the napkin of its own volition. He stares as Steve backs away, slipping his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunching.

Then the phone in his other hand vibrates again and Tony can’t stay any longer. With one last glance at Steve, he turns and pushes his way back out into the frigid night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOO YEA YA’LL, this part is good if i say do so myself, also it is LONG, plz enjoy
> 
> Warnings: emotional abuse, manipulation, drunkenness

Tony calls Ty the second he gets outside, fighting down a shiver as the icy wind cuts right through his hoodie.

“ _Tony?_ ” Tiberius shouts, frantic, when he picks up. “ _Tony, what the hell, where are you? Are you all right?”_

“Ty—Ty, I’m _fine_ ,” Tony says, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. _God_ , it’s cold.

“ _Don’t yell at me! I thought something awful happened to you! Why wouldn’t you tell me you’re going somewhere?”_

Frustration wells up in Tony’s chest. “I didn't—I didn’t think about it! It didn’t seem like a big deal. I just went for a walk, I’m fine, I swear.”

“ _I worry about you, you know that. What if something had happened to you, Tony? Do you know what that would do to me?”_

Tony cringes. “I know, I’m sorry, Ty—”

He doesn’t even get all the words out before he’s listening to a dial tone.

Tony swears and picks up the pace.

By the time he makes it back to the Tower, his face is numb and he’s shivering so hard the muscles in his shoulders are starting to seize up. “T-Ty?” he calls, pushing through the elevator doors before they’ve fully opened and wincing at how it makes the stiff cold skin on his arms ache. The warmth of the building’s heat pricks at his skin like razors. “Ty, look, I’m sorry, I should have told you where I was going, I just didn’t think…”

The bedroom door is closed.

Tony sighs and scrubs at his face. All right, okay, he gets it. He fucked up.

He’d try the door knob, but this isn’t the first time Tiberius has locked him out of their bedroom. Tony leans his forehead against the door and calls through the wood, “I really am sorry, Ty.”

No reply is forthcoming, so Tony sighs and rolls off of the door. Might as well go back down to the workshop.

It takes awhile for him to sink himself into the work, his thoughts catching in a feedback loop featuring Steve’s earnest gaze as he pressed the napkin into Tony’s hand, saying, _Call me. If you want,_ and Ty’s voice demanding, _What if something had happened to you, Tony? Do you know what that would do to me?_

The more he thinks about it, the angrier it makes him; Tiberius isn’t his goddamn keeper, he doesn’t have to report his every move back to him. It’s not fucking fair for him to be pissed off at Tony because he was gone for a goddamn hour while he was off banging some whore he picked up off the street.

Then he feels like shit for _that_ because it’s not _her_ fault Tony’s in an open relationship he doesn’t want to be open.

He’s not sure when it happens, but eventually he slips into the groove and the next thing he knows there are lips on the back of his neck, hands on his shoulders. He jerks, blinking the numbers out of his vision. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ty, head ducked like a naughty puppy. “Hi, Tony,” he says, voice soft.

Tony looks back at the prototype, rolling the screwdriver he’d been working with between his fingers. “Hey.”

“Tony…”

Fingers clenching around the screwdriver, Tony says, “Look, I apologized, which, just to be clear, I don’t really think I _had_ to, so if you’re here to—”

“Tony, I’m sorry,” Tiberius says, hand squeezing Tony’s shoulder.

That’s not at all what Tony’s expecting. His brow furrows, and he lets that settle for a second before he turns and meets Ty’s eyes. “You’re apologizing to me.”

“I overreacted last night. You don’t have to tell me if you want to go somewhere, you’re an adult.”

“Yeah,” Tony says, still trying to come to grips with what’s happening. “I don’t. I made it thirty whole years without you.”

“I know,” Ty says. “You’re right.”

Too incensed to stop, Tony goes on: “And I fly a goddamn metal suit to fight bad guys! I can take care of myself!”

“You do,” Ty says, and Tony stops, pressing his lips together. Ty shuffles, shoulders hunched, hair falling into his eyes. He _looks_ sorry.

“I hate it when you lock me out of the bedroom,” Tony says finally, quiet.

Tiberius grimaces. “I know, it’s a stupid, petty thing, and I shouldn’t do it. I just couldn’t find you last night and I lost my faculties. You’re a powerful man, Tony, it makes you a target.”

Tony feels like an idiot because Ty’s not wrong. Hell, that’s how he’d wound up saddled with the arc reactor. He runs his thumbnail along the edge of it.

Ty leans forward so that Tony can feel the warmth coming off his skin, the tickle of his breath. He hesitates, then kisses Tony’s cheek. “Come on, I made breakfast.”

That makes Tony twist almost completely around, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. “ _You_ made breakfast?”

Tiberius smiles sheepishly. “Well, how else is a guy supposed to say he’s sorry?”

This time when he slides his hands up Tony’s arms and leans in to kiss him properly, Tony lets him, smiling against his mouth. “You made breakfast, huh? When have you _ever_ cooked?”

“Probably about as often as you have,” Ty retorts.

The breakfast he made is terrible and they throw it all out, Tony ducking out to shower so they can go out instead. Tiberius winds up blowing him in the closet after. It’s pretty good, as apologies go.

Tony forgets about the number on the napkin tucked into his workbench.

–

Valentine’s Day is coming up, and over the next two weeks, Tony spends a not-insubstantial amount of time crafting a menu of their favorite foods and arranging their schedules so that they’ll have the night to themselves. He orders a special bottle of wine and a special bottle of grappa for a digestif. He makes a _playlist_ for crying out loud.

The morning of, he kisses Ty awake, kneeling over him on the bed in his suit. Tiberius blinks sleepily up at him and Tony cards his fingers through his long blond hair, smiles. Even when they were kids he liked it long. “Hey, hon,” Tony says, “I’m heading out, but I’ll be back at six sharp tonight. I got Porto’s for dessert.”

“Mm,” Tiberius hums, “you know me so well.”

Tony grins and kisses him again. “See you tonight.”

Throughout the day, Ty texts him things like, _Love u,_ and, _Can’t wait for tonight_ and even the awkward formality between Pepper and him can’t dampen Tony’s good mood. As promised, Tony is back at the Tower at six exactly. He sets up the table himself, laying down a tablecloth and arranging the place settings, setting out candles, which is disgustingly cheesy, but he has to admit it looks good when they’re lit.

At six-thirty everything is ready; the wine’s decanted and the dessert’s been delivered and tucked into the fridge, and JARVIS is handling the music.

Tony steps back to admire his work, pleased by the effect of the candles in the low light, the city shimmering and haloed by the frosted glass as snow swirls by.

Now that he’s done, he’s not sure what to do with himself. “J, any news from Ty?”

“No, sir,” JARVIS replies.

Tony’s fingers drum over the center of the arc reactor. He wanders over to the window, eyes following as snow skates up the glass, gossamer clouds curling around the buildings and glowing with soft light. His breath fogs the glass, so he draws part of the circuit diagram that’s been niggling at the back of his mind all day. He checks his phone, checks his email, checks the time. Almost quarter to seven now.

The kitchen calls. “ _Sir, are you ready for the first course?_ ”

“No,” Tony says, fiddling with the display of his phone like that will make something appear. “Not yet.”

He needs something to do with his hands, so he pours a glass of wine and sits, sipping. The silverware on Tiberius’ side of the table are crooked, so he fixes them. That knocks a crease into the tablecloth, which he smooths out. He sips more wine. Checks his phone again.

By seven thirty his glass is empty and there’s still no sign of Tiberius. He pours another.

He debates whether or not to send a text. It’s not like he specified when Ty should be home, and they usually eat pretty late, maybe he’s thinking eight? And he hates it when Tony nags.

He sighs and sets the phone aside, drinks another mouthful of wine.

For awhile he watches the candles burn, blinking when it starts to hurt his eyes. After that he trades off to watching the wax drip down the sides in thin tendrils, building up in layers at the bottom. He resists the temptation to poke it.

The kitchen calls again.

“ _Sir—”_

“Look, I’ll call you when we’re ready, got it?” Tony snaps.

“ _Yes, sir. Sorry, sir._ ”

He feels like an asshole after that and throws back the rest of the glass.

Eight o'clock comes and goes. At eight thirty he’s buzzed and more than a little nauseated from drinking so much wine on an empty stomach. Burning with embarrassment, he calls the kitchen back. “All right, bring it up.”

In ten minutes there are two waitstaff sliding the first of the plates onto the table. Tiberius’ absence is conspicuous and Tony can _feel_ their confusion. “Just keep them coming,” he mutters and starts eating, gulping down yet more wine.

He’s sinking a fork into the dessert he had specially flown in from fucking California when his phone blinks to life. He sets the fork aside, stomach turning over unpleasantly. He can’t imagine what excuse Ty might have that would be enough to…

_sry, babe, wont be home 2nite_

Tony stares at the message and feels his breathing pick up, rough and unsteady. He waits for something else, for some explanation, but nothing comes. Not even a contrived half-assed piece of bullshit explanation. It’s after _nine_ and this is all he gets?

With a shaking hand, he pours out more wine. It’s gone with a few practiced swallows.

He looks at the table, at Ty’s undisturbed place setting, at the fucking _candles,_ the gift he’d carefully hand-wrapped. His eyes prick with heat.

God _damn_ it.

Tony pushes to his feet and lifts the bottle, pouring what’s left of it down his throat. Well, he’s not about to spend fucking Valentine’s Day alone.

For a second he stops cold at the thought that maybe Ty found someone else, someone better to spend it with, and that’s why Tony’s been sitting here like an idiot for the last three hours. Anger and hurt well up at the back of his throat like bile. “JARVIS, the shop, now,” he demands, hurrying into the elevator.

JARVIS doesn’t reply, likely sensing Tony’s black mood, but the elevator accelerates quickly toward the shop. When the doors open, Tony makes a beeline for his workbench and bangs into it with a curse. He digs out the napkin, now creased and covered in smears of oil and other grime, but thankfully still legible, and dials the number with trembling fingers.

“ _Hello, this is Steve.”_

“Hi,” Tony says, and pinches his finger in the drawer as he leans on the bench. “Shit! Ow—” He sucks the finger into his mouth and then around it, says, “Shit, sorry, hi, uh— This is Tony? We met, uh, a few weeks back?”

“ _Oh— Tony!”_ Something clatters and something else sloshes.

“Yeah,” Tony replies quickly, “that's—that’s me. Hey, I was just wondering if you were doing anything tonight. If you're—are you free?”

There’s a confused pause and then: “ _I— Well, yes. I mean, yeah, I am. But it’s kind of late isn't—”_

“Great!” Tony blurts. “Can I meet you somewhere?”

“ _Um, well, I live in Brooklyn. That’s where I am now.”_

“Great,” Tony repeats, and bends over the table, swiping on the keyboard. “Address?”

“ _Uhh…”_ The pause this time goes on longer, but finally, Steve says, “ _180 Montague Apartments, Unit 203. But, uh, Tony—_ ”

“I’ll be there in twenty,” Tony says and hangs up on him. “JARVIS?”

“I have hailed a taxi for you, sir,” JARVIS says and Tony grins fiercely.

“Thattaboy. Don’t wait up.”

For courage, he digs out one of the bottles of scotch he has stashed in the lab and takes a hearty swig before heading down to the ground floor. The taxi’s waiting in front of the building when he arrives. “180 Montague?” the cabbie asks when Tony slides in.

“Yeah, wherever he told you; go, I said twenty minutes, we’re burning time.”

They’re turning onto Canal when the wine finally catches up with him. By the time they they make it to Steve’s apartment building he’s well and truly drunk. He leaves hundred dollar bills scattered across the backseat of the cab and stumbles out onto the sidewalk. Belatedly, he realizes he’s forgotten a coat. Eh, the alcohol’s keeping him warm anyway.

It takes supreme concentration to make it into the building and onto the right floor. Whereupon he realizes he has no clue what the apartment number was. “J,” he says, slurring just a little, “JARVIS.”

“Yes, sir,” his AI replies, voice tinny coming out of the phone.

“Buddy, I forgot…” He trails off, brow furrowing. What’s the word?

“Unit 203, sir, are you sure—”

“That’s right!” Tony exclaims. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Lucky for him, Unit 203 is the next apartment down. Tony leans into the doorjamb, feeling a little like he might tip over if he doesn’t, and knocks. He’s staring down at the carpet when the door opens and he looks up in surprise.

Steve is looking back at him. _Wow,_ he’s a knockout. “Tony?” he says, and then his brow furrows. “Are you okay? You look a little—”

Tony launches himself at Steve, covering his mouth in a kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, no luck working on flux, but i managed to wrap up a new chunk of tiberius!
> 
> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warnings: drunkenness, brief non-con groping

Steve staggers back into the apartment, a noise of shock disappearing into Tony’s mouth. He winds up on his backside, Tony’s elbow knocking him in the solar plexus and forcing all the air from his lungs. Tony giggles and Steve gets a strong whiff of alcohol.

Then Tony’s legs part to straddle Steve’s waist. He lifts onto his knees and Steve thinks, _Oh, thank God, he’s going to get up._

Instead, Tony reaches between their bodies and cups Steve through his jeans. Steve lets out a strangled squeak, trying vainly to get out from under him.

“What’s all the commotion?” Sam calls from the kitchen. “Is that Clint?” Then he pokes his head out and his eyes go wide as saucers.

“Sam!” Steve croaks and then yelps as Tony grabs at the button of his fly. Steve’s hands snap up, grabbing hold of his wrists.

Tony gives him a sultry look, which is startlingly effective considering how drunk he is, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “You wanna hold me down, Steve? Have me at your mercy?” Steve’s belly flutters.

Sam glances between them, eyebrows crawling toward his hairline. “Should I leave you two—” Steve glowers at him and he holds up his hands. “Okay, no, got you.”

He reaches down and gets his hands under Tony’s arms, but not before Tony rolls his hips.

Steve groans and then, thankfully, Sam pulls Tony up off of him. Steve slumps against the wall, the heat of a blush licking around his jaw.

“You!” Tony exclaims, as Sam leads him to the couch and nearly sways out of Sam’s grip.

“Me,” Sam replies, grinning.

Tony squints at him, this time swaying forward so his nose nearly touches Sam’s chest. “How do I know you?” Then all of the sudden his face lights up, bright as the sun. “Oh, Wingman!” He pokes Sam in the chest what looks to be a little too hard, though Sam doesn’t wince, just smiles in obvious amusement.

Steve jolts. How the hell does he know who Sam is? He catches Sam’s gaze, but Sam just shakes his head very slightly, and says, “Yeah, I was this big dork’s wingman at the bar the night he tried to pick you up. Guess he didn’t crash and burn as hard as I thought.”

Steve’s too relieved to fuss about the dig. It’s not that their identities are secret exactly, but it’s not something they mention if they don’t have to—especially not to Tony Stark. Steve’s aware that Stark owns and operates the Iron Man suit. He’s also aware that he was on the shortlist to become an Avenger, though he was later deemed unfit. Steve’s not sure why. He’s never bothered to do much research on the guy what with there being so much other stuff for him to catch up on, then the reemergence of Hydra, and Bucky.

Tony has a reputation for being a little wild, and free with the liquor, but Steve’s all too aware of how misleading a reputation can be.

Though, the way he looks right now, maybe it’s not so far from the truth.

Sam’s managed to get him onto the couch, and now the pair of them are sitting in the middle, one of Tony’s arms looped around Sam’s neck, his head tilted into Sam’s collarbone.

“Steve’s _smokin’,”_ he’s saying, and Steve frowns. He’s never smoked cigarettes. “Like…Christ, he’s hot. Y'know?”

“Mhm,” Sam says, sounding like he’s desperately trying not to laugh. He looks up at Steve, innocence written all over his face and says, “You’re, like, _hot,_ did you know? _Way_ hot.”

Steve feels his face turn bright red. They’re not talking about smoking.

Tony exclaims, “Yes! You get me.”

“I do,” Sam says solemnly. “I so get you.”

Steve sits tentatively down on Tony’s other side and says, “So, ah, Tony. What is it—what’s this about?”

He wants to ask, _do you usually call people back two weeks later on a major romantic holiday and drunkenly assault them?_ But that seems a little more complicated than Tony might be capable of right now.

Tony turns and puts one hand out. He means for it to land on Steve’s thigh, but he misses and nearly plants himself face-first in Steve’s lap. To Steve’s relief, he recovers. “I came over…because…” His brow furrows. Then he looks at Steve and smiles. “I came over so we could fuck.”

Steve frowns. “But you never called me.”

“I did so!” Tony says. “I called you tonight!”

Sam coughs to cover a laugh. “He’s got a point.”

Steve glares when that makes Tony’s expression turn triumphant.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Steve says firmly.

Tony’s face falls. “But…you gave me your number.”

“Well—I—yeah, I _did_ , but—”

“So you want to fuck me,” Tony concludes matter-of-factly.

Steve rubs the back of his neck, and then sighs and presses both hands to the sides of his nose. “Tony, I think you’re a real good-looking guy, but I’m not going to…have sex with you until we know each other better. And you’re sober. I don’t have sex with drunk people.”

Tony frowns. “But I’m drunk _now_.”

Steve huffs, a rueful smile pulling at his mouth. “Yeah, I know.”

“So…no sex?”

“No sex,” Steve confirms.

Tony slumps back into the cushions, dejected. He swipes at his face with the back of his wrist, glancing blearily at both of them. His bottom lip trembles, just once, and then he glances at Sam. “What about you, Wingman?”

“Sorry,” Sam says, genuinely apologetic. “I’m with Steve on this one. Safe, sane, and sober, you know.”

Tony doesn’t look like he expects the answer to be anything else. He rubs at his eyes with clumsy fingers and breathes, “Fuck.” Then he blinks widely and takes a deep breath. “Well, okay. Thanks. I better get going. Sorry for—” He waves a hand and almost knocks Sam in the face. “—barging in.”

Steve glances at Sam over Tony’s back as he struggles to get to his feet, because this is his house too, and says, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” When Sam gives him a curious quirk of the eyebrow, but a small nod, he adds, “You should stay here tonight. I don’t like the idea of you trying to get home like this.”

“What do you care?” Tony demands, tone slightly accusatory, and staggers off of the couch. He stumbles into the coffee table and pitches over it, swearing.

“Oh, shit,” Sam says, eyes going wide.

“Tony!” Steve lurches to his feet, rushing to help him up. He’s hissing, sprawled on his hands and knees across the floor. “Are you all right?”

“It’s fine,” he croaks, “your table broke my fall. Ow.”

“You’re staying,” Steve says, helping him get to his feet. “You can sleep in my bed.”

Tony sighs, unsteady even in Steve’s grip. “Fine, sure. Probably not allowed in my own bed anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts and con-crit welcome!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> short, but things are happening again!

Steve guides Tony down the hall and into his bedroom. All of the bluster seems to have gone out of him and when Steve nudges him toward the bed, he flops onto it bonelessly.

Crouching by the bedside table, Steve asks lightly, “So do you get plastered and proposition people a lot, or is this a special case?”

Tony groans and drags Steve’s pillow into his arms, burying his face in it. “Don’ wanna talk.”

Steve reaches forward and presses the pillow down so that one of Tony’s eyes is exposed. “You never called me back and then out of the blue showed up at my place and kissed me without so much as a hello, I think that should get me _some_ kind of explanation.”

“I _called_ you out of the blue, I didn’t show up out of the blue. An’ I had a shitty Valentine, how’s that?”

Steve considers Tony’s curled up form, and the pitch black suit he’s wearing. Steve doesn’t know much about expensive things, but he doesn’t have to to know this ensemble probably costs a pretty penny. It’s beautiful, and even a little disheveled, he still looks sharp. Steve supposes he doesn’t dress up this way for nothing. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.

“Sure,” Tony mutters, and it’s obvious he’s working himself up to a hell of a pity party.

Steve pats his knee. “I’ll bring you a glass of water and some Motrin. Do you need a basin?”

Tony just grunts.

To be safe, Steve comes back with the trash can from the bathroom and sets it beside the bed. Tony’s already snoring into the crook of his arm. He looks…well, he looks uncomfortable is what he looks.

Steve hesitates and then leans over and quickly divests Tony of his shoes, setting them neatly beside the bed. The jacket can’t be comfortable, but there’s not much he can do about that without moving Tony more than he’s willing to. He glimpses a tie pin as he’s straightening back up.

That’s not safe, so he slips that off too and sets it next to the glass on the bedside table. Then he figures he might as well take off the glittering cuff links pinning his sleeves, and sets those aside, too.

He really ought to get out of here.

After one more look, Steve slips out of the room, easing the door closed behind him.

Sam is sitting on the couch with a bowl of noodles when Steve emerges in the living room. He stares, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“What?” Steve says, and feels a damned blush crawling up his cheeks.

“Nothin’.” Sam shakes his head, still staring. Steve waits it out and he goes on, “I just think it’s interesting that Tony Stark is now, presumably, passed out on your bed.”

Steve rubs at the back of his neck. “I wasn’t gonna send him back out there like that.”

“Not saying you should have,” Sam replies easily and sets the bowl down in his lap. “I’m just…interested in how this is developing. Did he say why he showed up here of all places, blitzed?”

“Lousy Valentine, he said. Seems pretty torn up about it, whatever it was.”

“You know they say he’s in a relationship. Has been for a couple years.”

“They?”

“The media. You know how they can be.”

Steve recalls the _Romanogers_ incident and sighs. “Do I ever.”

“So could be they’re wrong,” Sam says and then tilts his head. “But I don’t think so. Just…watch it, okay?”

Steve smiles crookedly at him and claps a hand to his shoulder. “All I did was put a drunk guy to bed, Sam.”

“Uh huh.” Sam says, with a long, weighty stare.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here

Tony wakes up with a splitting headache and the sun in his eyes.

“JARVIS, what the hell,” he groans.

No response.

Even squinting, the light is like a thousand needles, driving into the frontal lobe of his brain, but Tony quickly realizes why JARVIS hasn’t responded.

He’s not in the Tower.

Shit. He sits up abruptly and immediately regrets it when nausea claws its way up from the pit of his stomach. Why the hell had he had that scotch after all that wine, _Christ._

He hovers there, bent over the edge of the bed with his hand on the night stand, waiting for the urge to hurl to recede. “I am reminded why I usually stick to liquor,” he mutters to himself, and squints at the night table. His fingers had bumped the side of what is indeed a glass of water. Next to it, much to his relief, are a couple of Motrin. He takes them both dry and then props himself up on one elbow so he can swallow some of the water. Then he presses the cool glass to his forehead.

He feels infinitesimally better after that, and takes a moment to look around the room.

It’s fairly small and plain, one wall painted in a reassuring medium blue tone. There’s more bookcase than wall visible, and a few of the titles are big enough to read: DUNE, Art & Fear, The Second Sex, and what looks like the entire visual history of World War II. In the corner by the window to his left, there’s a drafting table covered in papers and more books. A set of Prismacolors is set out neatly on one side and the wall between the corner and the window is practically invisible, having been covered in magazine cut-outs and photographs and print-outs of artwork. Both the closets are closed and the bed beneath him is still fastidiously made—minus a few wrinkles—despite him having slept on it.

Replace all the art stuff with flying stuff and Tony’d almost say this could be Rhodey’s place. Who the hell does he know that does art?

And who lives in such a tiny place. God, this room’s gotta be what, eleven, eleven and a half by fifteen?

He’s still trying to figure out the exact dimensions when the door creeps open. An arm slips through the crack, reaching for the MacBook sitting on the armchair next to the door.

“I’m awake,” Tony says, and whoever it is jerks, smacking their elbow on the door. It jolts open.

Tony winces. “Ouch.” Then he sees who it is and everything comes back to him. “Oh. Crap.” He covers his face. “Shit, it’s you.”

“Well, good morning to you, too.”

“Oh, god, that’s not what I—” He looks up and finds Steve smirking at him, blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

The smirk grows into a grin. “It’s like that.”

Tony looks down at his hands. “Thanks for…you know. Letting me crash here.”

“You were pretty drunk,” Steve says mildly, leaning against the door jamb.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Tony mutters, thinking back to how muzzy-headed he’d already been by the time he got to the scotch. He rubs at his forehead. “I’m kind of fuzzy on what happened last night. I’m sorry if I was…”

“You weren’t anything I couldn’t handle,” Steve assures him.

“I’m not anything you should _have_ to handle,” Tony mumbles to himself. He starts when Steve responds, brow furrowed earnestly.

“Hey, don’t talk like that. I don’t know what’s going on with you, or what happened last night, but you were obviously pretty messed up over it. I didn’t feel good about putting you back out there and I don’t mind you being here.” He looks down at his hands, twisting them together. “I’d like to give whoever hurt you a piece of my mind though.”

Tony feels heat creep up the back of his neck, even as a slimy sort of dread licks at the walls of his stomach. “No, it’s not— It was my fault.”

The look Steve gives him is dubious at best. “Okay.”

“Look, it's—whatever,” Tony says, and hopes that closes the matter.

Steve shrugs one shoulder. “Okay, if you say so.” He tosses a thumb over his shoulder. “Sam ‘n me just had breakfast if you want some. Dunno if you want to shower or not. If you do, there’s clean towels over the toilet. My clothes won’t fit great, but you’re welcome to them.” Then he nods toward the glass Tony’s still holding. “You should drink the rest of that.”

“Um,” Tony says. “Yeah. I will. Breakfast sounds good?”

Steve smiles, the genuine soft-edged thing that makes Tony’s stomach turn liquid. “Breakfast it is. Just come on out when you’re ready. Is there anyone you need to call?”

Tony stares out the window. “No,” he says, “there’s nobody.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here

Steve leaves him to drag his ass out of bed and Tony resists the urge to get under the covers and go back to sleep. He was supposed to wake up to lazy morning sex, not a hangover in a strange bed with what appear to be sheets from Target. He wallows for a few minutes, then throws back the rest of the water and pushes to his feet.

He shuffles into the little attached bathroom and grimaces when he sees his reflection. There are dark bags under his already wrinkled eyes and red creases along the side of his face from where he’d slept on his own arm. His hair’s a wreck; it’s flat on one side and sticking out in five directions on the other.

And Steve, handsome, azure-eyed Adonis, saw him this way.

Well, that’s mortifying.

A shower seems like too much effort and he’s relatively clean since he showered yesterday for dinner with Ty and then never—

Bracing his hands on the sink, he stops, breaths rough and unsteady. Fucking _Ty._

When he doesn’t feel like clawing his own skin off anymore, Tony folds up the sleeves of his shirt and splashes some water on his face.

Steve’s razors are vintage safety razors, clean and shiny, hanging in a two hole stainless steel stand. There’s a brush on a metal stand next to them and a small bowl. It’s been awhile since Tony shaved using tools like this. He’s gotten used to rushed electric shaves in the back of limos and stylists taking care of it for him.

He remembers the process well enough though—it’s how Howard had taught him.

The process is strangely soothing, and by the time he’s worked up a good lather, his headache has started to fade. Maybe he’ll get one of these. Maybe he _has_ one.

When he’s carefully carved out his goatee and mustache, he finishes washing his face and then digs around under the sink for a spare towel. It’s a little rough compared to what he’s used to, but it does the job. He drapes it over the jacket and runs his fingers through his hair, which is still full of styling product and easily manipulated.

“There,” he says, “not so bad.”

Now he just needs to stop looking like someone came and stomped on his sandcastle.

Well, at least there’s going to be food.

Steve’s room is at the end of a twenty foot hallway, which is decorated with an assortment of posters including a Harley and a SOMETHING SAM LIKES. The place is very tidy.

Tony pokes his head out at the end and finds the living room to his left and the kitchen to his right. Steve is in the kitchen humming quietly to himself and sliding a fried egg onto a heap of steaming potatoes and bacon. Instantly, Tony’s mouth starts watering. “Oh my god, gimme.” Then the smell of coffee hits his nose and he forgets about the food entirely. He diverts toward the pot, gratified when he finds an empty mug sitting next to it. He fills it to the brim and then cradles it in both hands, bringing it up to his face so he can inhale the vapor and potentially get a contact high.

Steve huffs a laugh at him.

“Don’t judge me,” Tony mutters. Steve holds up his hands, eyebrows going up along with them.

“No judging.”

“This is a no judgment zone!” a voice calls from the living room and Tony pulls back to see who.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says, and the guy grins.

“Yeah, it’s me. How you feelin’, man?”

“I have coffee,” Tony says, and takes a sip that scalds his tongue. “I’m fantastic.”

Sam laughs. “Glad to hear it.”

“Here, sit down and eat,” Steve says, easing past Tony with a strange grace for a guy so big and setting the plate down at the dining table.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Tony murmurs, eyeing the meal appreciatively. “This looks fantastic.”

To his immense pleasure, Steve blushes. “It’s just some hash and eggs.”

Tony groans as he takes his first bite. “It’s not ‘just’ anything, okay. Don’t speak ill of the food in my presence.”

“Funny,” Steve says, tone dry, “they never mention your concern for the feelings of food in the news.”

“I’m a man with many facets,” Tony replies loftily.

He finishes the food in a matter of minutes, shoveling it into his mouth like they’re going to take it back. It’s every bit as good as it looks and just greasy enough to be great hangover food.

Steve sits at the other end of the table, tapping away at the MacBook from the bedroom with an expression of intense concentration. The other guy—Sam?— is hanging out in the living room on the sofa watching TV.

Abruptly, Tony realizes this is the first time in— _years_ maybe, that he’s spent time with anyone he wasn’t working with or sleeping with. He’s not really sure what to do with himself. He’s not particularly keen to _leave_ either, it’s kind of nice, and he’s not looking forward to going back to the Tower, where he’ll have no choice but to face…whatever.

He doesn’t even realize he’s zoned out until his brain shifts back at the sound of his name.

Steve’s looking at him, something like concern faintly creasing his forehead.

“What?” Tony says, and then waves his hand. “Sorry, I checked out, did you ask me something?”

“I just wondered what your plans for the day were.”

Tony swallows down the surge of bitterness that climbs up the back of his throat with a couple of gulps of coffee. He smiles, but it feels all too brittle. “For once, I actually don’t have any plans. Guess I’ll just go home. Tinker in the workshop.” _Cook up a nice big stew chock full of all my miserable failings as a human being and a lover._

“Well,” Steve says, the words lurching out of his mouth a little at a time, “I hope you and Tiberius can work things out. Sorry— I—we talked about it after, after the bar. My friends didn’t want me to expect too much.”

“It’s fine.” Tony picks at the crumbs left on his plate, catching a bit of bacon under his fingernail and then swiping it out with his tongue. He squeezes his mug and then blurts, “We have an open relationship.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Sam start to turn his head and then abort the movement. “I wasn't— I wouldn’t cheat on him.”

Steve blinks. “I— Oh. Okay.”

God, he’s a fucking disaster, no wonder Ty wanted to open the relationship. Who the hell would want this?

“You could stay here,” Steve says abruptly. When Tony looks up to stare Steve is flushed pink, shaking his head like he can’t believe the words that just came out of his mouth. But he catches Tony’s gaze and stumbles on, “I mean, if you wanted to. You could.”

“No,” Tony says, automatically, because that’s ridiculous. “I can’t. You’ve probably got—things.”

“Just for awhile,” Steve says, leaning forward.

Tony’s eyes flick down to where his shirt puckers at the neck, offering a peek at the skin underneath, and then he understands.

Well, why the hell shouldn’t he?

He had taken the day expecting to be in bed for most of it, so what if it’s not the bed he intended?

“Okay,” he agrees. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, another super short bit, idk what is even happening in this right now
> 
> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here

Steve doesn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. He closes up the laptop, but instead of leading Tony to the bedroom, he takes the plate and goes to the kitchen to wash it.

Tony shrugs mentally and takes the opportunity to finish off his coffee. There are more shelves out here, many of them filled with movies rather than books, though there are still quite a lot of books. Tony’s trying to read a few of the titles when Steve pokes his head out of the kitchen and gestures at the mug. “Are you finished?”

“Yeah, here,” Tony says, handing it over. “Uh. Can I help?”

“I got it,” Steve says breezily. “Do you want to use my computer or something? I’d like to do some drawing this morning.”

Tony frowns because he’s not sure where the sex comes in. But he’s already starting to get bored, a computer wouldn’t go amiss. “If you don’t mind. I’ll try to resist the urge to upgrade.”

“You can upgrade mine,” Sam calls. “It’s a piece of crap.”

Tony lifts an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“A Sony.”

He grimaces. “Ew.”

“Tony, you don’t have to do that,” Steve says as he comes out of the kitchen. “That’s like work, we aren’t going to ask you to work, right, Sam?” he adds, tone going a little pointed.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, no upgrades necessary.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tony says. “Gimme. Although you’d be better off just buying an SI. Nothing I can do is going to fix what a piece of shit this is—god look at it.” He grimaces again as Sam pulls the laptop up from beside the chair. It’s a hulking silver and black thing with a peeling War Machine decal on the lid—that makes him smile, anyway.

He gets up to accept the laptop from Sam and taps at the decal as he does. “You a fan?”

“Yeah, man!” Sam exclaims, leaning over the arm of the chair. “Rhodes was a legend _before_ War Machine. I was lucky enough to meet him when I was doing SERE.”

Tony’s lips quirk in a humorless smile. “Guess he’d be a pretty good resource where it comes to search and rescue.”

Sam’s expression sobers. “Yeah, he mentioned going after you. Said logic and your superiors will tell you one thing, but sometimes you’ve got to listen to your gut. He said being able to do that was the difference between a soldier and a leader.”

“Yeah, and sometimes it’s just sheer blind stupidity,” Tony says, keeping his tone as light and cheerful as he can manage. He knows Rhodey had to fight tooth and nail to keep hunting for him as long as he did. What happened over there is a sensitive topic and Tony doesn’t much like talking about it with the people who know him best, let alone strangers. He boots up the laptop. “I’ll let Rhodey know you said hi.”

Sam grins, delighted. “Do, by all means, please.”

Steve comes back from his bedroom with a sketchpad and a handful of pencils. He looks at Tony across the table and says, “Do you mind?”

Tony frowns. “What, you want me to sharpen them?”

Amused, Steve says, “No, I’d like to draw you, if you don’t mind, that is.”

Tony blinks, taken aback. After a minute, he says, “Uh, yeah, sure, go ahead, da Vinci.”

“Just Steve’s fine,” he replies and Tony snorts. For a few minutes it’s quiet, just the sound of the pencils knocking against one another and the rustle of paper breaking the silence, and Tony can’t help sneaking glances at Steve over the edge of the laptop screen. This guy doesn’t make any sense. Didn’t he want Tony to stay so they could have sex? Why the hell is he here if not to have sex?

It’s a puzzle he can’t figure out, and it’s making him nuts.

So he pushes Steve and the sound of his pencils scraping across the paper out of his mind and says to Sam, “So you were in the military, huh?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reminder that this is a draft and might not make sense xd
> 
> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here

While Tony futzes around with Sam’s computer, Steve sketches, eyes coming up every few seconds to linger.

Tony’s had a lot of people stare, but never quite like this. It’s the gentlest look he’s ever gotten. It doesn’t want anything, it’s not particularly lustful or coveting, it’s not a stunned gawking, or Pepper’s glaring. A few photographers have come close, but even their looks were calculating while they analyzed the lighting and set up the composition.

Steve’s gaze is feather-light across his face, taking nothing, almost like Tony’s enough exactly as he is.

It makes his skin tingle.

He knows that it’s not true, that he’s not. He hopes, fleeting and pathetic, that Steve will look at him like that when they get around to the sex.

Which is too embarrassing to bear thinking about, so he buries himself in the registry of Sam’s laptop and tries to block out the sensation of Steve’s gaze traveling over his fine edges. He’s largely unsuccessful, so he adds something else to focus his attention.

“So what do you two do, hm? Not each other, strangely enough.”

“I’m not Steve’s type,” Sam says with a sly gap-toothed grin that makes Steve duck his head and blush. “Although I’m more Steve’s type than I knew.”

Steve huffs. “It wasn’t a secret, it just never came up.” Then he gestures with pencil in his hand to the pad in front of him. “I’m an artist. I do some comics and a few commissions here and there.”

“And he’s a bodyguard part-time,” Sam adds.

“Right,” Steve agrees.

Something funny passes between them, even though they don’t look at each other. Tony waits, but when nothing’s forthcoming, he says, “You too, Wingman?”

“Nah,” Sam says cheerfully. “I work at the VA.”

“Right, you were a soldier.”

“I was. Paratrooper.”

“Ahh, no wonder you know my Rhodey-bear.”

Sam grins the shit-eating grin of someone who’s heard something delightful. “I can’t believe he lets you call him that.”‘Lets’ is probably not the word he’d use,“ Tony says breezily. He eyes Sam, curious all at once. "Paratrooper—I don’t suppose you’d tell me if you were one of the guys who tried out the EXO-7?”

Sam’s smile turns beatific. “Cannot confirm nor deny.”

Tony grins. “Well, that says it all, doesn’t it. But, okay, fine, I’ll take the hint, no talking about classified materials, hush hush; Steve must be a terrible secret keeper.”

Steve frowns. “I’m not, I keep plenty of secrets—”

“Not well,” Sam says, voice full of humor.

Steve flushes. His skin is so pale it must happen at the slightest provocation. Tony likes the contrast of the delicate blush on a guy so stacked. It’s cute.

“Relax, GQ, I’m kidding, your honor is intact.”

Steve cuts him a wry glare.

“All right, well,” Sam says, getting to his feet, “entertaining as this has been, I’ve got to get going.”

“What? Why?” Tony can hear dismay in his own voice. He sounds dismayed.

Sam grins at him. “Meeting at the VA.” He reaches out and squeezes Tony’s shoulder as he passes. “It was nice seeing you again. Be even better if next time you were more sober than not.”

Tony is the one who blushes this time. “Uh, yeah. I’ll see what I can do about that. Thanks for letting me crash here.”

“Anytime,” Sam says, sliding a coat over his shoulders, and Tony believes he means it. “Ya’ll play nice now.”

When he’s gone, Tony leans his head on a hand and announces, “I like him.”

Steve grins at his sketchbook, glancing up after a moment. “Sam’s a good guy.”

Tony tilts his head, watching the muscle move in Steve’s arm as he sketches. “And what about you. You a nice guy?”

“I try to be,” Steve says, and Tony believes that, too. He clears his throat, suddenly uncomfortable and goes back to poking around inside Sam’s laptop. Time kind of slips away from him after that.

He downloads a few SI programs that aren’t teeechnically available for the general populace, but, hey, it’s his software and they saved his bacon and let him crash plus he knows Rhodey and is Air Force so _whatever_.

Merry Belated Christmas, Sam.

Then he adds a few patches he has on his own system (namely the partition that runs Windows because he likes to make his stuff cross-OS compatible). It’ll improve his processor speed and really utilize the quad processor which is totally wasted in this hunk of junk.

So then he has to add another patch to resort priority tasking so that the background processes aren’t hogging the CPU’s time just to check for the eighty-gazillionth time for a weekly antivirus update that won’t come around for another three days.

Speaking of—he replaces McAfee, grimacing at the icon as he obliterates it from the system. Dear god, just because it _came with the computer_ doesn’t make it good—shitty car stereo systems do too and no one keeps _those_. The SI virus checker he installs instead links up to his personal virus library which is more robust than—well, pretty much anything.

Congrats, the NSA won’t be able to give you a Trojan if they ship it in an actual wooden horse via UPS.

He’s running defrag when Steve taps the table near his left hand. He blinks, having forgotten all together that Steve was in the room.

Steve smiles. “Must be interesting, whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Not especially. I get—” He makes a diving gesture with one hand to try and concisely explain how easily he gets absorbed in a task.

Steve looks…interested maybe? But all he says is, “Well, if you can take a break, I made some sandwiches.”

“Ooh,” Tony says. “I can definitely break.” So they have lunch, and Steve shyly turns the sketchbook around so Tony can get a look at what he’s been working on.

It’s so good Tony loses track of a potato chip halfway to his mouth. “Wow,” he says, staring. “Wow. This is…” He drops the chip back onto the plate and scrubs his hands with a napkin before reaching to pull it closer. “ _Wow_.”

Steve ducks his head, pleased and embarrassed all at once. “So you like it?”

The drawing is rough in places, sketch lines still visible beneath darker strokes. It’s him, very clearly, emerging out of the page with just a few deft lines. He’s seen a lot of drawings of himself, caricatures especially, so he’s not sure why this half-finished thing is so incredible, but it is.

“I don’t know what I expected, but color me impressed.”

Steve seems thoroughly embarrassed. He mumbles a thank you and moves to clean up after himself.

Tony is still looking at the drawing when Hot Blooded starts playing in his pocket. He freezes.

 _Ty_.

He doesn’t want to answer per se, but if he doesn’t things will probably get worse than they already are. Grimly, he pulls the phone out and and answers, voice flat, “Yeah, hi, Tiberius.”

“ _Tony, where are you?”_

“I’m…out,” Tony replies, not really feeling charitable enough to give more detail. He grimaces. “Are you—home?”

“ _Yeah, I’ve been looking for you_ —”

“Okay, well, I’ll be back soon. See you there,” Tony says, and then hangs up. He’ll probably regret being so terse later, but right now he can’t bring himself to care. He scrubs at his face and then sighs. “Steve?”

Steve pokes his head out of the kitchen, almost like he was waiting for it. “Yeah.”

“I have to get going.”

“Oh. Okay.” Steve gestures to the drawing. “I didn’t get to finish and I think it’s going to be nice. Would you mind coming back over some time?”

Tony glances down at the drawing, running his fingers over the edge of the page. “No. Yeah, absolutely.”

Steve smiles. “Great.”

Tony smiles wanly back at him and quickly gathers up his things. “Thanks again for letting me crash.”

Steve catches his arm as he moves for the door. “We’re happy to have you, Tony.” Tony doesn’t know what to think about that, or what to say, so he just nods jerkily and says, “Call me when you wanna do that drawing,” and slips out the door.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warnings: abuse, abuse, abuse, manipulation, and abuse

By the time he gets to the Tower, Tony’s shaking with how angry he is.

During the drive he’d had a chance to think, and the more he’d thought about it, the angrier he’d become. What does he care if Ty is pissed because he went out without saying anything and slept in some stranger’s bed? Tiberius left him high and dry on _Valentine’s Day_. Full well knowing that Tony had made plans for them.

 

And if he thinks he’s got a right to blow a gasket because Tony refused to stay home and play the part of the jilted lover, he’s got another thing coming.

“Welcome back, sir,” JARVIS murmurs as he steps into the elevator, and Tony calms down just enough to offer the terse reply, “Thanks, J. Where is he?”

“The penthouse, sir, awaiting your arrival, I believe.”

Tony’s fists clench so tight the bones feel like they might tear through his skin. “Take me.”

“As you wish.”

Tony wants to scream. He wants to blow something up and punch something and maybe cry while he tears something to bits. Tiberius fucking _knew _how important this was, how hard Tony had worked to arrange things and he just—he’d left him sitting there like a goddamned idiot without even offering a token excuse. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, nails digging into his palms.

When the elevator arrives, he stalks out of the car, eyes sweeping the penthouse.

Ty is behind the bar.

His head comes up at Tony’s entrance and then his shoulders hunch, a guilty look stealing across his face.

Son of a bitch. That _son of a bitch._ “You ditched me last night,” Tony snaps.

Ty cringes. “I, I did, yes, you’re right.”

Instead of calming him down, that just makes Tony more infuriated. “What happened to ‘I can’t wait’, what happened to ‘luv u’, how _could_ you, Ty? You _knew_ I was expecting you!”

Both of Ty’s hands come up to cover his face. “God, I know, Tony, I’m sorry.”

“You’re _sorry?_ ” Tony demands, voice going shrill. “Do you even give a shit about me?”

Tiberius jerks, like Tony’s slapped him, stares at him in shock.

“You keep _doing_ this, what the hell am I supposed to think?” Tony demands.

“I didn’t mean to,” Tiberius says, still staring, voice faint. “I had a meeting with an important lead and I lost track of time. I’ve been trying to get them on the books for months and I wasn’t just going to walk away when it could mean billions in profit for Viastone—”

“Why the hell couldn’t you _tell_ me that?” Tony demands. “Just text me or something so I wasn’t sitting around for three hours like a complete idiot.”

Tiberius blinks rapidly. “I _did_ tell you, days ago,” he says, and that draws Tony up short. What? “I told you this might happen, so I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me,” he goes on, and Tony’s stomach starts to sink. If it was that important Ty _would_ have told him, but he’s been so busy with everything, with planning, that it’s possible he’d just heard _Valentine’s Day_ and tuned the rest out. Tony starts to feel sick. “My phone had died. I didn’t realize until it was too late and by the time I texted you, they were ready to sign. I know it was terrible and I feel awful, but I didn’t do it on purpose.” He sniffles, scrubbing at red eyes. “How could you think that I would do something like that to you on purpose?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out. How _could_ he?

Ty leans heavily into the bar like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, his expression tortured. “What have I done to make you think I would do something so disgusting? I love you, Tony, how could I ever—”

“Hey,” Tony says, shame suddenly lapping at his breastbone. “Hey, I don’t, no, Ty—”

“Do you think so little of me?” he chokes, and then his chest is heaving.

Tony closes the distance between them in a few stuttering steps. “No, of course I don’t, Tiberius, I love you. I’m sorry, god, I’m sorry, I lost my head. I just—I really wanted to spend last night with you.”

“It doesn’t sound like you want anything to do with me,” Tiberius mumbles into his hands.

Tony swallows hard. God, this isn’t what he wanted at all. “This isn’t your fault. I must have spaced you telling me about the meeting. I’ll do better.” He reaches to touch Ty’s shoulder.

It’s like a punch in the gut when he draws away from his hand, avoiding the contact.

“I…don’t know if I can be around you right now, Tony.”

“Oh,” Tony says, hands falling to his sides. Fuck, he’s made a mess of things again.

“I’m going to lie down for awhile,” Tiberius says finally. “I just won’t make any meetings for the next big day, huh?”

Tony flinches. “Ty, I’m sorry, that’s not what I—”

But Tiberius slips past him and leaves him there without another word, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him loud in the silent room.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> **Warnings: **implied gaslighting, emotional abuse/manipulation
> 
> not much, but it’s not nothing p;

Things are tense around the Tower over the next week. Tony makes apology breakfasts and apology dinners and brings Ty flowers and ludicrously expensive scotch and a bottle of wine that cost more than a regular person’s salary. He apologizes over and over and over and still can’t quite wrap his head around it.

Sometimes it feels like he’s losing his mind, because he’d been sure he was the one being wronged Valentine’s night. He still gets angry about it when he starts thinking it over, but then he remembers Ty’s devastated expression and his insistence that he’d warned Tony. Tony wracks his brain, trying to remember when Ty told him, but he can’t remember exactly when it was. Maybe he needs more sleep.

For two days the news fills up with coverage of SOMETHING DANGEROUS BUT NOT INTERESTING TO TONY going down in Tribeca. He smiles when he catches a glimpse of the guy S.H.I.E.L.D.’s got acting as Captain America. Whoever designs the Avengers’ outfits is a merciful god, delivering unto the world that man’s teeny tiny waist and legs that go on for days.

I should be on that team, he thinks, grimacing at Hawkeye. Guy’s not even super as far as anyone can tell. Which just makes him more impressive and Tony more annoyed.

His heart sinks, the way it always does when he sees them in action. But he’s not bitter or anything. Not jealous. Nope. Definitely not.

“Mister Stark,” Pepper says, and he blinks, shakes his head. “You have a call.”

“I have a—who is it?”

She shrugs. “I have no idea. He says his name is Steve. I assume you know who he is, he called your line direct.”

Tony stares at her for a long moment and then starts waving his hands wildly. “Well where’s the phone, Potts? How long has he been waiting?”

Pepper huffs at him and produces the phone, which she presses to his ear. He scrambles to take it, ignoring the evaluating expression she gives him. “Hi—hi, hello, Steve?”

“Hey, Tony,” Steve says, and Tony’s heart only starts to beat faster because of all the flailing, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No, no, not at all,” Tony says, and glances down at the paperwork spread out between him and Pepper. She’s leafing through the pages, but he knows she’s paying more attention to him than them right now.

“Okay, good. I know it’s short notice, but turns out I’ve got some free time tomorrow. If you’re available I can finish up that drawing?”

Tony covers the receiver with his hand. “Am I busy tomorrow?”

“You have to be at the board meeting all morning and you have a walk-through scheduled in the afternoon.”

“I don’t have to be at the board meeting,” Tony says, but before he can tell Steve as much, Pepper cuts in.

“You absolutely do, we’re discussing the funding for the prosthetics line.”

“Shit. What about the walk-through, I don’t need to do the walk-through tomorrow, right? Surprise inspection. Throw them off their game.”

Pepper sighs and leans her elbows on the desk. “Who is this ‘Steve’?”

“Nobody. Just a guy.”

“Tony, please, give me some credit, I’m not a _complete moron—”

Tony jerks his head back, genuinely insulted by that. “Hey, you are the opposite of a moron—”

“What is this about? Why are you trying to get out of work to see this guy?” Then her eyes go wide. “You’ve been distracted all week. Did you break up with Ty?”

“No!” Tony says, “He’s—he’s a friend, okay, we’re friends. I have friends.”

Pepper mutes her disappointment well. “I know you do. I’ve met Rhodey. What I don’t know is who this Steve person is and why he’s calling you on your private line at three o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Settled,” Tony says, “I’m ditching the walk-through, we can do it Friday.”

“Tony—”

“Yeah, hi, Steve, sorry about that I was just checking my schedule. Turns out I’m not busy tomorrow afternoon either.”

“Great,” Steve says brightly. “That’s great. You should come to my studio downtown.”

Tony’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead. “You have a separate studio downtown?”

“Yeah, it’s not much, but it’s mine.”

“Address?”

Steve rattles off an address for a place that’s not far from the Tower. In the background, Tony can hear something that sounds a lot like a hospital, but that doesn’t make sense. “Sorry, Tony, I’ve gotta go,” he says, in between the sound of other voices. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, bye,” Tony says. This is the best he’s felt all week.

Pepper eyes him curiously, but doesn’t say a word. Tony feels a pang at that. He misses being grilled endlessly. But Pepper just clears her throat and starts talking about the reports.

At least he’s got tomorrow to look forward to.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> No warnings.

The board meeting, as expected, is hellish.

Tony has to fight tooth and nail for every dollar because “while philanthropy is allwell and good, Mister Stark, we need to make a profit and prosthesisis not a market with room for growth”. He has to bite his tongue more than once to keep from pointing out that the company does _not_ in fact need to make a profit, it has to break even, and to stop himself from demanding if they can _hear_ themselves choosing money over people.

He makes concessions because he has to to even be able to do this much and it makes him feel slick and slimy.

They wrap up an hour later than expected and he’s starving by the end, having refused to eat while they were negotiating and risk lowering his guard.

So he’s cranky when he crawls into the car waiting for him, all of his excitement having been smashed into the dirt along with his regard for humanity as a whole. “Food,” he grunts at the driver. “Whatever’s on the way.”

It winds up being a burger—these people know him so well—and when that’s sitting in his belly with a whole load of Coke, he feels a hell of a lot better.

And, though he will never admit it, nervous as hell.

He waves to the driver as he slips out onto the street in Chelsea just a couple blocks from the Hudson and looks up at the building. It’s a big brick thing with a lot of windows neatly divided into nine panes. They’re shut tight against the winter chill, but Tony imagines during the summer a lot of them are swung open to let in the breeze.

God, he can’t wait for spring.

Steve’s directions are good, so it doesn’t take him long to get inside and up to the right floor. The door at the end is propped open and there’s quiet music drifting out of it, along with the sound of voices, a laugh.

Tony pokes his head inside.

The studio is brightly lit with the cool light of an winter’s afternoon, which is streaming in through the windows lining the far wall. It’s a little chilly in the building, but he can hear the steady hum of space heaters under the music. It’s a big space, probably six-hundred feet square, split into what looks like three sections. The far right is arranged like a sitting room with a rug and an worn-out old armchair, a desk in the corner. There’s a woman with curly dark red hair sitting at the desk on an Asus— _sigh_ —scrolling through, what is that site? Tumblr.

The middle area is unoccupied at the moment, but the set-up suggests a photographer of some kind spends a lot of time there. On the far left is where he finds Steve with his back to the door, in front of a canvas big enough to be a dining room table. He’s moving his head to the beat of the music, though it seems to be coming from the woman’s side of the space.

“Hi,” Tony says, raising his voice just a little. They both startle and Tony bites the inside of his cheek.

“Tony!” Steve exclaims, his expression going sunny and pleased. It’s flattering, and Tony can’t stop himself from smiling back at him. “Hey, you made it, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Tony says, sticking his hands in his pockets for a lack of anything better to do with them.

“Did you want something to drink? How’s your day been?” There’s paint in various colors all over his gray t-shirt and in a streak down the leg of jeans, like he’d leaned up against something. He bends over to look into the mini fridge between his space and the photography space and Tony stares. There are smudges over the pockets on his ass too.

God, it’s a really nice ass.

“Ugh.”

Tony’s eyes snap up when he realizes he said that out loud. Fortunately, it’s a decent enough answer for how his day’s been, too.

Steve’s eyebrows go up and he comes over with a water, even though Tony hasn’t asked for anything. “That good, huh?”

Then Tony gets a good look at his face and his hand stops most of the way toward accepting the water, staring. “What did you do to your face? Try to hack out your eye with a paintbrush?”

For a second, Steve looks puzzled. Then realization dawns. “Oh,” he says, and reaches up, fingers skimming the stitches forming a C along the lower edge of his eye socket. “This.”

“Yeah, that,” Tony says, still staring. He’s had his fair share of injuries, but that looks—ow. There’s a ring of blue bruising just underneath the eye itself that’ll probably darken to a nasty black. Tony’s amazed his eye isn’t swollen shut.

Steve shrugs. “It’s from my other job.”

“Oh, right! The—the bodyguarding. Wow, who are you looking out for?”

Steve’s mouth quirks and he looks down. “Can’t tell you that.”

Tony’s eyebrows creep up his forehead. “Ooh, mysterious.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Steve says, dryly. “Mr. Mysterio.”

“I find you very mysterious,” Tony replies loftily.

“That makes one whole person,” Steve replies and points across the room. “Tony, this is Kelly. Kelly, Tony.”

The woman turns and waves over her shoulder, a little pink in the face. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Same,” Tony says, nodding at her. She recognizes him, he can tell. Looks like she’s one of the nice ones who aggressively pretends not to.

“Kelly, me, and another fella rent this space here. Kelly’s a writer.”

“Sometimes,” she mutters darkly.

Tony grins and echoes, “'Fella’?”

Steve blushes, but he rolls his eyes too. “Yeah, yeah. I talk funny.”

“No, I like it,” Tony says, amused. Steve gives him a wry look.

“So this is my studio,” he goes on, waving a hand at the space around them. The walls are painted a bright, pristine white, and there are easels, some kind of shelving system with a lot of thin, narrow slots, and another drafting table that lights up. There are a couple of bar stools and what looks like a kitchen chair with a padded seat. There’s art everywhere. Pencil sketches on big sheets of paper, what looks like nearly a dozen pages of a comic book with panels laid out, the sheets pinned to the wall, canvases covered in color propped up against the wall and one another.

It reminds Tony of his workshop, if it were filled with paintbrushes instead of wrenches. That in mind, he’s actually kind of amazed Steve invited him here.

“Um.” He scratches at his nose, at a loss for words. “It’s, it’s…something.”

Steve huffs. “Probably looks like a mess to you. How long do you have?”

Tony cracks open the water bottle and takes a sip. “I’m all yours.”

Steve beams. “Great.”

“I thought you said you did comics,” Tony says as Steve cleans the brushes he was working with.

“I do. Painting’s for me. It’s physical, helps me relax. I don’t get caught up in the details as much.”

Tony hums. “Fabrication, I get it.”

Steve looks at him askance.

“Fabrication,” Tony repeats. “That’s, uh, when I build stuff. Assembling the armor, you know, putting the pieces together. It’s physical.”

Steve smiles at the floor and Tony’s heart flutters behind the reactor. He wants to make Steve smile like that more often.

When the brushes are clean, Steve dries his hands and then directs Tony to one of the stools that rolls. He winds up almost in the photographer’s section of the studio, carefully placed to take advantage of the light coming from the windows (that’s what Steve tells him anyway).

Steve glances at him as he settles in. “Did you bring something to entertain yourself?”

Tony waggles his phone. “Only one in existence. I’ll manage.”

He winds up hardly paying attention to it though. They talk about the weather and sports and the price of pencils and where ideas come from. Steve’s perspective on current events is _fascinating_ and Tony ends up telling him about the board meeting and the prosthesis line and then he’s hearing about Steve’s friend Bucky who apparently has a prosthetic arm. Tony’s mouth quirks in a smile.

“Hey, that’s funny,” he says. “Your name is Steve and you’ve got a friend named Bucky. Wasn’t that Captain America’s buddy?”

Steve laughs awkwardly. “Yeah, I think it was.”

Hmm, shit, he doesn’t seem to like that. Tony fidgets. “You probably hear that all the time, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, smiling crookedly. He clears his throat and says, “I think I’m finished.”

Tony perks up. “Really? Can I see?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, and turns it around as Tony approaches.

His own face is instantly recognizable and Tony stares. “Wow. Wow, this is— You’re good, Steve.”

Steve ducks his head, looking pleased and embarrassed in equal measures. He shrugs. “I do okay. You like it then?”

“Like it?” Tony echoes, “I love it.”

A pretty shade of pink colors Steve’s cheeks. “Thanks.”

The windows have dimmed to an orangey hue and Tony realizes suddenly that what’s-her-face—Kelly—hasn’t been here for an hour. They’re alone and Steve is gorgeous and…shit. He clears his throat and stands up. “I should get going.”

“You should come out and meet my friends,” Steve blurts. “Thursday, we go out on Thursdays—”

Tony blinks at him. “I can do Thursday.”

Steve lights up. “Great.”

Tony spends the whole ride home smiling to himself like an idiot.

It’s not like he’s lacking in the friendship department, he’s got friends–Rhodey and Ty and, well, Pepper until recently. And there are others, he knows people, like, _a lot_ of people. But still. Steve’s interesting and Tony bets his friends are too. It’s nice to have been invited. It’ll be fun.

He saunters into the penthouse, humming to himself as he strips out of his suit jacket. Ty stands up in the sunken living room and he startles.

His stomach drops, guilt slipping through him like oil before he firmly reminds himself he didn’t do anything wrong. “Hey, Ty.”

Tiberius grins at him, coming around to meet him, and Tony smiles, surprised when Ty cups his face in his hands and kisses him. “Hello, darling. How was your day?”

“I got the funding for the prosthesis,” Tony says and Ty beams at him.

“Fantastic, that’s wonderful, I know how hard you’ve been working for that.”

“Yeah, I mean, the board wasn’t thrilled obviously–”

“Obviously.”

“–but I got it.”

“We should celebrate,” Ty says, and Tony eyes him contemplatively, cautiously pleased.

“Yeah? You want to?”

Ty kisses him again, one hand palming the back of his neck. “Let’s go to Rome,” he breathes.

Tony laughs. “ _What?”_

“Rome, Tony, let’s go to Rome.”

“Pepper’s never gonna let me–”

“I already talked to her.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “You spoke to Pepper? With like, actual words? Were you in the same room? Did JARVIS get a recording? Oh my god.”

Tiberius pouts. “Tony.”

“I’m teasing. I’m just kidding,” Tony says, but he’s still grinning as he pulls Ty into a kiss. “Yeah. Let’s do it. Let’s go to Rome.”

Ty drags him forward until they both lose their balance and tumble over the back of the recessed sofa, Tony’s delighted laughter ringing through the penthouse.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this scene is RIDICULOUSLY LONG, so i’ve cut it into two parts because i’m a monster (hey theappleppielifestyle lookie lookie)
> 
> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> No warnings.

Rome is perfect.

 

They run around like kids, Tony breaking out his Italian to purr dirty things in Tiberius’ ear until he drags him back to the villa, then they spend nearly ten hours straight in bed. And if Ty comes back the next afternoon with lipstick on his collar, Tony pushes it out of his head.

 

When they come back two days later, Tony is loose and happy, a grin breaking across his face every time Ty catches his eye. He feels more relaxed than he has in weeks and he’s still got Thursday night to look forward to. On Wednesday, he charms his way through a couple of interviews about the new product launch and does the walk-through with Pepper, which goes surprisingly well.

 

The lion’s share of Thursday passes in a blur in R&D, which he’s grateful for at six when the team starts packing up and heading out, because now that he’s got a second to breathe and remember he’s got plans, his nerves surge to life. Then he looks at the clock and realizes what time it is and that Steve will be here in less than a half an hour. “Great work, guys, drive safe, kiss your families, we’ll fix the timing circuit tomorrow!” he yells, bolting for the elevator.

He scrubs clean in the shower, anticipation thrumming under his skin. He’s happy to be seeing Steve again, less happy that it’s going to be in the company of his friends. Sam’s pretty decent, but they can’t all be, and he’s never been all that tolerant. Whatever, he’s going for Steve, it’ll be fine.

 

The first outfit he picks out is a charcoal gray suit with a red shirt and a black tie. Then it occurs to him that’s probably way too formal, so he swaps the slacks for jeans and loses the tie.

 

 _Here,_ Steve texts, and Tony checks his hair in the mirror again, hand smoothing down the front of his shirt. “Keep it together, Stark,” he orders his reflection and then slides his tinted sunglasses on and flashes himself a smile. Tiberius would laugh at him if he could see him. Lucky for Tony, he’s still working.

 

He hurries down to meet Steve.

 

Shock doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels when he gets down to the street and is met with the sight of Steve standing astride a black motorcycle in fitted jeans and a brown leather jacket.

 

“Hey,” he says, smile obscured by the helmet he’s wearing, “I hope you don’t mind the bike.”

 

Tony stares at it and swallows thickly. “Mind?” he says “Why would I mind? You look like a wet dream.”

 

“That’s what I was going for,” Steve says dryly.

 

Honestly, Tony’s scared shitless—he’s not a fan of dangerous machinery when he’s not the one handling it—but he’s not about to let Steve in on that.

 

Steve holds out a second helmet, which Tony accepts with a punched-up sigh. “Do you know how long I spent getting my hair to look this good?”

 

He swears he can see Steve’s eyes twinkle. “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

 

Tony huffs and pushes the helmet on. Steve shuffles forward to make room and Tony swings a leg over, settling into place at Steve’s back after staring at the curve of his spine for a beat too long. _God,_ he’s unreal.

 

Even through the jacket, Steve feels warm and Tony leans into his back, wrapping his arms around the bottom curve of Steve’s ribcage. “Okay?” he calls, raising his voice to be heard.

 

“Yep,” Steve calls back. Then he kicks the bike into gear and it roars to life beneath them. Tony’s grip tightens, sweat breaking out under his arms. Oh god, he hopes he doesn’t sweat through his damn shirt.

 

He can’t help the nervous giggle that escapes as they zip out into traffic, so he presses it into Steve’s shoulder blade.

 

The bike sounds like a dream, and once he realizes they’re not going to topple over no matter what he does—Steve’s reflexes are insane—he starts to enjoy the ride. The fast clip of his heart is a little uncomfortable, especially with the way it knocks against the arc reactor, but Steve is warm and solid in front of him, New York rushing past in a blur of glittering lights.

 

They head for Brooklyn, which reminds Tony that, oh, yeah, he has no idea where they’re going.

 

It ends up being a three story brownstone a few blocks past the most heavily trafficked areas. There’s a nice looking hand-lettered sign over the door that reads _Spencer’s_. Steve’s motorcycle has the benefit of being easy to park.

 

Tony gets a little breathless when Steve takes off his helmet, hair sticking up in all directions, and he blames it on the chill. “You didn’t have to drive into Manhattan to get me,” he says, “I could have had a car drop me off.”

 

Steve shrugs as he secures the helmets. “I wanted to.”

 

Tony doesn’t know what to say to that, but it makes him feel warm all over. “Hey, wow,” he says, catching sight Steve’s eye—the stitches are gone and the skin’s still a little mottled, but the injury is pretty much healed up. “Your eye looks better.”

 

“I heal fast,” Steve says with a crooked smile.

 

“No kidding,” Tony says. It hasn’t even been a week, that’s impressive.

 

“Sam’s already here,” Steve says, rubbing his palms on his jeans. “The others should be along soon.”

 

Oh, right, Sam. That perks Tony up; he’d liked Sam, even if he doesn’t like the others Steve and Sam will be good company.

 

Inside, the bar is all amber-colored wood, lit by what look like kerosene lanterns in the center of each table. The actual bar itself is lit by old-fashioned fixtures with metal cages around the orange-hued bulbs. None of the furniture matches, but it’s all wood and leather upholstery in a variety of colors. Liquor bottles are lined up in warmly lit wood shelves behind the bar. The bartender himself is a surly looking guy with long brown hair in a flannel shirt. The place is still mostly empty, but it’s early.

 

Sam is sitting in the corner at what looks to be the biggest table in the place with eight seats. His smile lights it up and he waves a hand. “Hey, Tony, it’s good to see you, man!”

 

“Good to see you,” Tony echoes, smiling back at him and they shake hands. He slides into the seat next to him. “How’re things?”

 

“Can’t complain,” Sam says, still wearing that goofy, infectious grin. “I hear SI is getting serious about prosthetics.”

 

“You hear right,” Tony says, grinning.

 

“Drink, Tony?” Steve asks.

 

“Old Fashioned. Please.” Tony reaches for his wallet, but Steve waves him off.

 

“I got it. You hungry?”

 

“The food here’s in _sane_ ,” Sam says, “but you gotta order from the secret menu.”

 

Tony’s eyebrows creep up his forehead. “Secret menu, huh?”

 

“You know what, just get a couple things, Steve,” Sam says, squeezing Tony’s arm. “You know we’re good for it.”

 

Steve grins. “I dunno, Sam, you eat like a bird.”

 

“Ha ha!” Sam yells as Steve heads for the bar. “Asshole,” he mutters, but his voice is thick with affection.

 

“How’d you two meet anyway?” Tony asks.

 

“We met in DC. I was out for a run and there’s this guy lapping me, just—embarrassing.”

 

Tony laughs.

 

Sam smiles and shrugs. “He seemed lonely. We got to talking and one thing led to another and here we are three years later.”

 

Steve comes back then with their drinks in one hand. “Bottom’s up fellas,” he says, depositing them on the table and sitting down alongside Tony, so close their knees touch.

 

Tony’s just lifting his drink to his mouth when he spots someone else headed for their table and his eyes just about bug out of his head. “Bruce Banner, holy shit.”

 

Banner smiles, gaze shifting away. “Hi,” he says, barely loud enough to hear.

 

Pushing up onto his feet, Tony leans over the table to reach for his hand. “It’s good to meet you, Doctor Banner. Your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. And I’m a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster.”

 

The corner of Banner’s mouth quirks. “Thanks.”

 

“Hey,” Steve says, looking taken aback and affronted in equal measures.

 

Tony realizes it probably sounds like he’s mocking Steve’s friend and he blurts, “Sorry— I didn’t—I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Sorry, Doctor Banner.” He presses his palms together. “Really, I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s fine,” he says mildly. “It’s kind of nice not to dance around it.”

 

That seems to cue Steve to relax and he looks a little embarrassed himself.

 

“You, uh, do a lot of dancing?” Tony asks and, wow, ten out of ten there Stark, eleven from the Russian judges. God, he’s a _wreck._ Bruce’s smile quirks a little broader.

 

“More than I like, yes.”

 

Still kicking himself, Tony turns to Steve. He calls upon his gala-forged reservoirs of nonchalance and says, “How, pray tell, did you meet Doctor Banner?”

 

The look he gets in return is a little deer-in-the-headlights. Bruce ends up being the one who answers. “When I came back to the States, I didn’t have much. I commissioned Steve for some art.”

 

Tony breathes a sigh of relief. This he can do. “He’s good, right?”

  
“Yeah, he’s very good,” Bruce says, and they both look sidelong at Steve who has turned pink and is drinking his beer with excessive focus. “How did you and Steve meet?”

 

“Oh, he propositioned me in a bar.”

 

Steve splutters. “I didn’t—!”

 

“You sure did,” Sam says. “I’ll vouch for that.”

 

While Steve is trying to rescue his honor, a server brings their food. It smells incredible. There are soft pretzels twists with a cheese fondue, and honey and curry glazed pistachios, and a golden brown purse of pastry ringed by crackers that he bets is a gooey wheel of brie coated in jam.

 

“Oh my god, this looks amazing,” he says, mouth starting to water.

 

“I told you,” Sam says and digs in with relish.

 

The food is just as good as it looks. Steve’s friends—so far—are actually kind of cool and Tony’s glad he came. He feels like a normal guy, which is something of a novelty. He’s not sure where he stands with Steve, especially considering how close he’s sitting, but that’s okay. He’s not sure where he _wants_ to be standing.

 

For now, he thinks he’s just happy to be here.

 

Then Steve straightens up next to him, lifting a hand into the air. “Hey! Thor, over here.”

 

“ _Thor?_ ” Tony echoes incredulously.

 

“Friends!” the newcomer cries. He’s carrying three pitchers of beer like teacups, which he sets on the table. He’s got long blond hair that’s intermittently strung with braids. And he’s _Thor._

 

“I can’t believe you know Thor,” Tony says to Steve. “I can’t believe he’s allowed out.”

 

“Well, they let _me_ out,” Bruce says.

 

“Good point,” Tony says. “Wow, so you guys are, like, buddy-buddy even off duty?”

 

“We have forged close bonds in the heat of battle,” Thor says. “You must be Tony.”

 

“Yeah, hi. Nice to meet you. Love the whole God of Thunder thing.”

 

Thor grins and his electric blue eyes crinkle. “I, too, enjoy it.”

 

Tony nudges Steve playfully in the ribs. “So should I expect to be meeting the guy they’ve got playing Captain America next? Is this the Avengers favorite bar?” He grins as Steve turns red.

 

Bruce glances at Steve for the barest second and then exchanges a look with Thor. “It’s usually just Thor and I. The others have their secret identities. It’s a little awkward trying to have a drink with a man dressed as the American flag.”

 

Tony barks a laugh at the mental image.

 

“Where’re Jane and Darcy tonight, Thor?” Sam asks.

 

Thor sighs. “Working. I tried for Darcy’s sake to convince Jane to take a break, but she would not have it.” Laughter goes around the table and Tony gathers this isn’t an unusual occurrence. The bar has started to fill up, music from various decades playing quietly under the clamor of dozens of conversations. It’s loud enough to make the place feel lively, without making it too hard to hear.

 

These people all know who he is, but not in the way he’s used to. It’s strange being Steve’s-friend-Tony and not Tony Stark, billionaire-playboy-philanthropist. There’s no pressure, no expectations, and Tony really doesn’t know what to do with that.

 

The server is clearing away their first round of plates when Steve perks up next to him, a grin spreading across his face. “There’s Nat and Clint!”

 

“Late as usual,” Sam says cheerfully.

 

Tony follows Steve’s gaze. Clint is a man with dirty blond hair in a purple shirt and Nat is—

 

“You’re shitting me,” he says aloud, and feels his blood pressure start to climb. He pushes to his feet. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

 

“Uh, okay.” Steve blinks, but stands and steps aside so he can get out. Nat— _Natalie—_ is looking at Tony from across the room, her expression pinched. The blond guy asks her something and she signs a response, never breaking eye contact with Tony. The guy heads for the bar.

 

Tony heads for her, tension pulling at his shoulders.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> No warnings.

“What are you doing here?” Tony demands when he’s close enough.

She gives him a dirty look and drags him into a hug. He jerks back instinctively, but she’s strong and he doesn’t accomplish much. There’s something pleading in the way she clutches him. “I was invited. These are my friends.”

“Oh, really. You’re not just here to spy on me some more? Maybe come at me again with something pointy?”

Natasha huffs. “When are you going to let that go? It was to help you.”

“Yeah, well,” he grumbles. She leans back just enough to look up into his face.

“Don’t wreck this for me, okay?”

“What,” he says, “they don’t know you’re a triple-agent super-spy who stabs people?”

“No,” she hisses back. “They don’t. As far as they know I’m just an analyst at S.H.I.E.L.D. And I want to keep it that way. This is my piece of normal. I like normal. I like my friends. Don’t wreck this for me because I was doing my job.”

“Fine,” he says after a moment. “Just stay the hell away from me.”

“You got it,” she says, and immediately releases him, putting on a smile when Clint joins them.

Clint gives Tony a long, slow perusal, eyes traveling from the top of his head all the way to his toes. He smirks, so when he opens his mouth, Tony is expecting a line. That is not what he gets.

At all.

“You’re shorter than you look on TV,” he says, voice a little too loud.

Tony blinks, head jerking back. “You’re not exactly walking on stilts yourself!”

Natasha has covered her face with a hand. “Clint, we talked about this in the car, _no_.”

“Well he _is_ ,” Clint retorts.

“I’m sorry about him,” Natasha sighs and takes her drink from him, swallowing down half of it. “Go to the bathroom or Steve’s going to ask questions.”

She shoos him, and Tony goes, because he’s not quite sure what the hell else to do.

When he gets back, the presence of the last two members seems to create an unspoken consensus and he ends up the group’s sole focus.

“How’d you meet this dweeb anyway?” Clint asks, jerking a thumb at Steve.

“Asked and answered,” Tony replies. “Next question.”

“How did you come to know Bruce?” Thor asks.

“Are you kidding? The man single-handedly birthed a branch of science.” He grins and Bruce smiles back at him.

“That’s not entirely accurate.”

Then Sam sets his beer down, expression going very solemn. “Okay, this is very important. Like, make or break question, Stark. You ready?”

Tony blinks at the suddenly stone-faced group of people around him and feels himself start to sweat. “Uh. Yeah?”

Is this going to be something about what the company used to do? Or what they’re doing now? What if—

They all lean in a little bit further and Bruce says gravely, “Star Wars or Star Trek?”

Tony nearly has an aneurysm from relief, but he doesn’t even have to think about it. “Star Trek. Hands down. Hello, have you seen Captain Kirk? He actually makes polyester not look like one of humanity’s great sins.”

Clint groans over a chorus of gleeful razzing. “Man, another one? _Han Solo!_ ” he protests.

“Captain Kirk,” Tony repeats.

Conversation flows freely after that, and it’s… Tony’s used to being the center of attention, but not with people who are actually, genuinely interested in what he has to say. They ask him dozens of questions, but it never feels like they’re digging. Every so often, he’ll catch Steve looking at him, expression anxious, and it takes Tony a long time to realize he’s worried that Tony won’t like his friends, or that they’ll scare him off or something. That he cares at all makes Tony feel almost giddy.

He’s tipsy by now and leaning heavily into Steve’s shoulder—not nearly as drunk as he’d normally be interacting with a group of people. The others are all talking and for once Tony’s just happy to sit by and listen.

Steve is the one who finally breaks the silence. “I, um, looked up open relationships. I hadn’t heard of that before.”

“Oh?” Tony says, wary.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I was wondering…what your boundaries were.”

That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Tony blinks. “Boundaries?”

“You know,” Steve says, “what you and…Ty agreed to. The, um, terms. Of how you can…see other people?”

“We don’t have any terms,” Tony says.

Steve frowns. “You don’t… None at all?”

Tony shakes his head. Are they supposed to have terms? What the hell does that even mean?

“Oh,” Steve says, mulling that over. Tony’s not sure if that’s good or not. “So you’re free to see anyone in any way?”

“Well, yeah,” Tony says. “It’s an open relationship.”

Steve nods slowly. “I just…wondered.”

“Uh huh,” Tony says and sips at his beer, suddenly feeling off-kilter.

“I’m sorry,” Steve hurries to say, “I’m prying. Sorry. Did you and Tiberius work things out? Wait, I mean—shit. You don’t have to answer that—”

“Yes,” Tony says, cutting him off and saving him from himself. He gets a grateful look from Steve for his trouble. Tony shrugs. “It was my fault.” He smiles wryly. “Listening isn’t my strong suit.”

Steve’s head tilts, his brow furrowing. “Your fault?”

Tony waves a hand. “Yeah, I planned this whole thing for Valentine’s. Flew dessert in from California, the whole nine yards.”

“I wanna be that rich,” he hears Clint mutter.

“Anyway, he got stuck at work. Big client.”

“That’s why you called,” Steve murmurs.

“Yeah,” Tony says and scrubs his hands over his face. “Sorry about that, by the way. I get stupid when I’m drunk.”

“I’m glad you did,” Steve says and Tony huffs.

“You’re a weird guy.”

“I do not understand,” Thor says, leaning forward over the table. “How does the fault lie with you?”

“Well, he told me he might get stuck at work. I mean, I don’t remember him saying that, but like I said, I’m a terrible listener, so if that’s gonna be an issue we should just cut our losses now.” He grins at the faces looking back at him around the table, but no one grins back. They look puzzled instead.

Clint shakes his head. “If _I_ ordered dessert from California and my date didn’t show up, I’d be pissed, too, work or no.”

Bruce smiles. “I get the feeling we’re missing a few details. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who flies off the handle for no reason.”

Tony’s mouth twists. “You don’t know me.”

“Okay,” Natasha says, putting down her glass with a thunk, “let’s not get maudlin. Thor, tell us a story.”

Thor grins and gulps down three-quarters of a glass of beer. “With pleasure.”

Tony’s grateful for Natasha’s interference, though he’s loath to admit it. He doesn’t need a bunch of platitudes when he knows he was in the wrong.

Thor is an incredible storyteller. In no time, they’re all laughing so hard they can barely sit up and before Tony knows it, it’s almost midnight.

“Shit,” he says, “I need to get home.”

Steve smiles at him, easy and languid. “Sure, no problem. Let’s head out.”

They rise and the others groan. “Aw, are you out of here?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I gotta get back. It was nice meeting you all.”

“You should come again next week,” Natasha says and he hesitates, meeting her eye across the table. He’s not sure what to make of her.

“Aye,” Thor says, “I want to hear more about this armor of yours.”

Tony blinks and nods. “I’ll see what I can do.”

After that there’s a chorus of goodbyes and hugs and handshakes. Tony’s sorry to go, but he needs sleep before tomorrow. Back at the Tower, Steve tugs off his helmet and smiles at him, kicking up a frenzy of butterflies. “I’m glad you came tonight.”

Tony hands back his own helmet. “Me too,” he says, surprised by how much he means it.

Steve’s smile is bright enough to light up the whole street. “Good. I'm—that's—I’m glad. They can be a little much,” he says and Tony grins.

“Those guys? I don’t believe it.” After a beat he says, “Am I ever gonna meet this Bucky guy?”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Yeah, of course. If you end up coming next week, probably. He’s been out of town.”

“Ah. Then I’ll make sure to clear my schedule.”

They stand there for a long time, just looking at one another before Tony finally clears his throat and jerks a thumb at the Tower. “I’m gonna… Thanks again.”

“Any time,” Steve says, and obviously means it. He waits there at the curb until Tony has gone through the Tower doors before finally putting on his helmet. Tony grins to himself at the sound of the bike roaring to life, the sound fading little by little as he drives away.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this just got out of hand so i’m posting the scene at it’s current completion point *throws hands up*
> 
> did i mention the bar was parker, hardison, and eliot’s?
> 
> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> No warnings.

_Can I pick you up Thursday?_ Steve texts on Tuesday and Tony blushes in an investors meeting and gets kicked in the ankle by Pepper.

Tony doesn’t get why Steve wants to pick him up when it makes more sense for him to drive out to Brooklyn and save Steve the trip, but he also really wants it for reasons he won’t let himself think about.

So when Pepper’s busy talking, he texts back, _Only if you wear the jacket again._

 _Done,_ Steve replies an instant later and Tony has to cover his grin with his hand.

The pointed look he gets from Pepper says he doesn’t do so well, but he can’t bring himself to care.

 _Bucky can’t wait to meet you_ , he gets on Wednesday at lunch. It kicks his nerves into high gear and he ends up abandoning his grilled cheese. He’s got butterflies, like a little kid, Jesus. He hasn’t been this nervous to meet someone in longer than he can remember. Fortunately, Rhodey calls and distracts him, asking about what he’s up to this week.

There’s no reason not to, and normally he would, but for some reason Tony keeps his plans for tomorrow to himself. If he had to guess, he’d say Rhodey would approve.

It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that mentioning it to someone outside the fantasy might break the spell.

Nope.

Thursday night he changes three times before settling for a t-shirt and some dark jeans with his leather jacket. What the hell does it matter, they’re just _clothes._

This time he makes it out to the curb before Steve arrives though, so he gets to stare his fill while Steve guides the bike right up to him. “Hi,” he says, not even giving Steve the time to do more than get his feet on the ground before he’s climbing on the back, cramming the helmet down over his head. He hears Steve laugh and feels chagrined for about a second before Steve twists the throttle and the bike roars beneath them. Tony’s hands grip tight around Steve’s muscled waist and he thanks whoever’s out there for whatever it is he did that got him here.

Steve tugs off his helmet and smiles up at Tony when they get to the bar, blue eyes crinkled, and for the millionth time Tony thinks, _shit, those eyes_. “It’s good to see you, Tony,” he says warmly.

Heat crawls up out from under Tony’s collar and he nods, ducking his head. “Yeah, it’s good to see you, too. I, uh, I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” he admits and is lifting the boot to kick himself in the ass when he glances up and sees Steve’s beaming smile.

He gets up off the bike and says, voice gone soft, “I’m glad.”

Tony’s heart rabbits around in his chest so fast he feels breathless. “I. Yeah,” he croaks.

Then Steve turns to clip his helmet to the bike and he can breathe again. Oh god, what’s he gotten himself into?

Inside, Thor, Sam, and Clint are already at the table, arguing in good-natured, but loud, voices.

“Hey guys,” Steve says, sliding into a chair.

“Steve, tell him,” Clint says immediately. “Tell him he’s bonkers.”

“He’s the one who’s bonkers,” Sam says.

Thor shakes his head, obviously amused by both of them.

“Wheat beers,” Clint presses, “nasty as fuck or tolerable when drunk enough?”

“Oh no,” Steve says, holding his hands up. “Leave me outta this. If Eliot hears—”

“Oh, Eliot’s heard,” a voice growls from behind them and Tony turns to see the long-haired bartender scowling at them and violently wiping a glass clean. “You two don’t even deserve to drink it. Hops and wheat beers both have their places, if you can’t see the damn difference and appreciate it maybe you need to find yourselves a new bar to drink at, huh?”

Clint’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean it. Not a word. Totally talking out my ass. Wheat beer’s great. I’ll have one right now, in fact.”

Someone else sighs loudly from the back of the bar. It turns out to be a tall, thin black man who’s midway through an eyeroll. “Did someone start talking shit about the beer again? There is a _sign_ ,” he says, and points to the center of the bar, where there is in fact a folded paper card that reads in elegantly typeset letters: DO NOT TALK SHIT ABOUT BEER. THE BARTENDER IS ORNERY.

It’s like a circus in here.

Tony _loves_ it.

He’s even more delighted when the bartender comes out from behind the bar and sets a pint of beer with the perfect amount of head down in front of Clint with a bang and a scowl. Then he sets down a small tray of cheese chunks slightly less violently and jabs a finger at it. “Bacon gouda. Eat it. Drink the beer. Then maybe, _maybe_ I’ll let your dumb ass stay.”

Tony laughs when Clint immediately pops a chunk in his mouth and swallows a mouthful out of the glass. He looks up at the bartender. “Do you usually threaten your customers?”

“Only _all the time_ ,” the black guy says and curls a hand lightly around the bartender’s elbow. “Eliot, babe, come on. We’ve talked about this, man.”

“He was talking shit about wheat beer! The wheat beer _you_ make, because I know he doesn’t go and buy it at the store! I ain’t gonna let that slide!”

The other man looks torn between abject adoration and exasperation. “That's— I’m very flattered. That’s sweet. You are sweet. The sweetest. In fact, can I see you in the back. Right now. Yes, _right_ now.”

The bartender smacks his hand away, but he’s flushing and doing as he’s been asked. “Don’t call me sweet, Hardison. I am not sweet. I’m salty. I’m very fuckin’ salty, okay, are you listening to me?”

The door to the back swings shut behind them, muffling their voices and Thor reaches across the table and smacks Clint with the back of his hand. “Look at what you’ve done. You very nearly got us ejected.”

“ _Ow_ ,” Clint says and then stares sullenly at his beer and the plate of cheese. “This is really good, dammit.”

The swinging door pops open and the bartender sticks his head out, lips swollen and red. “You’re damn right it is!” he snaps, and then he’s dragged back behind the doors.

“You should know better,” Steve says, giving Clint a judgmental look.

Tony laughs so hard he starts wheezing.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warnings: ableism, mention of emotional abuse, alcohol abuse

“You a beer guy?” Clint asks Tony and he shrugs, steals a piece of the cheese.

“Prefer harder stuff usually. Tried to quit all of it a couple years back—health problems,” he says with a wry quirk of his mouth. “But my boyfriend says I’m boring when I’m sober so I didn’t try all that hard.”

Instead of laughing like he expects—people normally laugh when he says that—Clint frowns. “Seriously, he said that to you? That's— That’s kind of fucked up.”

“Well, it’s true,” Tony says, but he feels uneasy. “In fact— Hey, barkeep. Scotch on the rocks. A rock. Just one rock, if you don't—”

He realizes there’s no one behind the bar and and swallows, trying to keep his composure in the face of the awkward silence that’s settled over the table. Clint is drinking his beer like it’s last call and Sam’s looking at him with his forehead creased in concern. Steve seems to have forgotten all together what to do with his hands, shifting nervously in the seat next to Tony.

The blonde Tony remembers seeing behind the bar last week appears out of nowhere and sets a glass in front of him. “Scotch on a rock,” she says, and gives him a smart nod before twirling off again. True to her word there is a single, perfectly circular whiskey rock in the glass.

Tony stares at it and can feel everyone else staring at it and he has never in his life felt so awkward about drinking a drink.

Thor, bless his little alien heart, says, “On Asgard, it is not uncommon for I and my comrades to imbibe too much while celebrating. And we celebrate often.” He tilts his head to the side and then admits, “It is true enough, we do not always wait for something to celebrate.”

Next to him, Steve huffs, just a little burst of a laugh that he doesn’t mean to let out and immediately shrinks a little like he’s made himself a target.

Thor just grins at him, “Aye, this comes as a surprise, does it not?”

Steve’s grin spreads shyly across his face. “Oh, yeah. I’m very surprised.”

Thor laughs and Tony can literally feel the tension melt out of the air. He wonders if that’s another superpower of Thor’s. Either way he’s grateful for it. Thor’s just finished a story about one of his drunken exploits involving a dark elf king and a jeweled gown when he calls, “Natasha!” voice booming around the bar. Everyone turns to look and Natasha smiles coyly at them from the door.

Tony glances back at Steve to see his reaction and catches Clint signing something with loose movements.

“What was that?” he asks, pointing at Clint’s hands.

Clint stills for a second and then goes purposefully lax, leaning back into the booth seat. “ASL,” he says and taps at his right ear, turns his head just so and lets Tony see the discreet aid tucked inside it.

“I know that,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “What did you say?”

“That’s rude,” Natasha says as she sits next to Thor and accepts a kiss on her cheek. “Private conversation.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at her. “If it was private you wouldn’t have it where anyone could see.” He mimics the gesture he’d understood. “I know ‘you’. Didn’t get the rest.”

Clint seems amused. He signs the first part again. “Means 'miss’.” He repeats the third sign, which is what Tony recognizes as [the letter N, apparently being fired from his wrist like a weapon](http://blandmarvelheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/96785304332/clint-has-given-each-avenger-a-name-in-sign)? He points at Natasha. “That’s my nickname for her.”

“Oh, a personal sign, cool.” Tony repeats the three signs and Natasha drawls, “Aw, I missed you, too, Stark.”

He makes a face at her. “Is Natasha special or does everyone else have one?” Tony asks, repeating Natasha’s sign and winking at her as he aims it her way. She hides her smile, but he sees it anyway and is oddly pleased with himself for it.

“No,” Clint says with a huff, “everyone’s got one.”

Steve signs the letter S and cocks it in a jaunty salute. Sam follows, an S turning into the sign for ‘bird’. Tony laughs. “Now I know you used the EXO-7.” Sam just smiles beatifically back at him. Thor is next, the letter T wielded like a hammer, which just makes Tony laugh harder. “Subtlety is not your strong suit, huh?”

Clint’s next gesture is not ASL and it is extremely impolite. Tony grins at him, delighted. “Banner?” 

Clint signs 'doctor’ followed by the letter B.

“Okay,” Tony says, wiggling forward in his seat. “Do me, do me.”

Clint smirks. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

“Boo,” Tony replies, put off for half a second. Then he leans forward again and says, “Can I see your hearing aid?”

Steve makes a mortified little sound and hisses, “ _Tony_.”

Tony blinks. “What? Am I not supposed to ask that? How am I supposed to figure out if I can upgrade it if I can’t ask about it?”

“Think about how you’d feel if someone asked to take a look at yours,” Natasha says with a pointed look down at his chest and Tony’s hand moves without his permission to cover the arc reactor. Everyone’s eyes drop to look and he quickly pulls it away. Point made, although he’s none too pleased with her for exposing his vulnerability like that. She raises a brow at him.

“Yeah, I got it,” he mutters and glances at Clint. “Sorry.”

Clint shrugs, rolling it off one shoulder, his expression placid. “These assholes have all done similar shit at one point or another, it comes with the territory. Something to keep in mind.”

There’s an awkward beat and then Steve clears his throat and says, “Can I get anyone a drink?”

Tony and Sam both accept, everyone else waves him off, though Thor does ask him to order some food.

“So you’re still working on flight assistive tech, right?” Sam all but purrs when Steve is gone, leaning across the space between them.

Tony smirks at him, leaning his head on his hand. “I’m pretty sure that information would be classified.” He leans forward a little and purrs back, “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Sam’s eyes twinkle. “You know I can’t do that.”

Tony sighs with a touch of drama. “Non-disclosure agreements are a bitch, aren’t they? Looks like we’re at an impasse.”

Steve comes back then, carrying three drinks which Tony and Sam accept with thanks. Steve tips his head back over his shoulder. “Tony, this is Bucky. My other roommate.”

Tony almost blurts, _Prosthetic arm guy!_ but manages to bite it back at the last second.

Bucky is kind of a hilarious name for this guy, who’s nearly as big as Steve is with dark hair and dark eyes and a subdued, dangerous vibe. His hair’s pulled up in a loose bun, which does nothing to mute his intensity. Tony’s dying to get a look at his arm, but he’s wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt with sheepskin lining that covers his left arm to the knuckles.

“Hi,” Bucky says and reaches to shake Tony’s hand.

“Hi, Steve told me a lot about you,” Tony replies and watches as the subtle tension in the guy’s body fades as he turns a glare on Steve.

“Yeah, he does that.”

Steve sits, his thigh settling up against Tony’s in a hot line, and he smiles sunnily up at Bucky. “Hey, I was good. I didn’t tell him nothin’ untoward.”

Tony resists the urge to turn and stare. He’d have never guessed Steve was a Brooklyn boy until now. They really must go back.

Bucky rolls his eyes and slouches down into the seat next to Sam. “Yeah, sure.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warnings: mention of emotional abuse, alcohol abuse

“Hey, it’s good to have you back, man,” Sam says, smiling and poking at Bucky’s beer bottle just as he brings it to his lips.

He scowls.

“What, uh, what do you do?” Tony asks, suddenly sweating bullets. God, this guy’s stern. Nothing like what Tony would have imagined a friend of Steve’s to be like, especially not his best friend. He’d expected more of Sam. Light and sweet.

Bucky’s gaze cuts over and Tony resists the urge to gulp. “City Emergency Response. Same as Steve. You?”

Surprise moves across Tony’s face before he can stop it. “I’m Tony Stark,” he says. “Billionaire, playboy, philanthropist? Well, not so much ‘playboy’ anymore.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow just a hair. “Oh, really. Then what do you call what you’re doing with Stevie?”

“I’m not doing anything with Steve.” Tony blurts the denial on instinct, because it’s true, he’s not.

“Buck!” Steve hisses.

“Sure doesn’t look like nothin’ from where I’m sitting,” Bucky says and looks pointedly downward to where Tony is all too aware of Steve’s leg pressed against his before taking another sip of his beer.

“Oh, excuse me,” Tony drawls, “I didn’t know it was 1835 and scandalous for two men to sit close together.”

“'Nother couple inches and I’d say 'playboy’ suits you just fine.”

“Bucky, what the hell?” Steve demands, before Tony can so much as open his mouth. “Shut up!”

“I’m just callin’ it like I see it,” Bucky says, still looking directly at Tony. “You trust too easy, Steve.”

“And you don’t trust enough,” Steve snaps.

Bucky flinches, almost un-noticeably, and grimaces when Steve pushes to his feet.

“Tony, you don’t have to put up with this,” he says and sounds tired.

Tony shrugs. “I’ve heard worse.” He has. Much worse.

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Steve grits, and turns his glare on Bucky again. “I’m gonna— I need some air.”

Tony hesitates for a split second and then blurts, “Can I come?”

Steve looks surprised when he looks back. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Tony smiles. Screw Bucky. He doesn’t care what Bucky thinks.

He ignores the anxiety humming in his belly that says otherwise.

Tony follows in Steve’s wake as he makes his way through the now-crowded bar.

It’s warm inside and stepping into the frigid night air is a slap in the face. “Shit,” he spits, breath pluming white in front of his face.

“Okay, not a great idea,” Steve says and Tony watches a shiver ripple down his spine and chokes on a laugh.

“What are you talking about, it’s p-perfect.”

Steve turns back with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and laughing eyes. “You’re absurd.”

“C'mon, c'mere,” Tony says, and backs up so his back’s to the brick facade of the bar, beckoning Steve to follow.

He does and Tony pats the brick next to him. Steve moves in next to him and then at least Tony’s warm up one side of his body.

“I’m sorry about Bucky.”

Tony snorts and looks up at him. “I’m not. I was starting to think all your friends had judgment as bad as yours.”

Steve frowns at him. His cheeks are pink from the cold, and it makes his eyes intensely blue. There’s a cute furrow in between his eyebrows. “Why do you say things like that?”

“I’m a human disaster, Steve. Don’t you keep up with the papers?”

Steve’s nose wrinkles with displeasure. “Papers are even more unreliable than they used to be. I take everything they print with a block of salt.”

“Yeah, well. Some of us are a big enough wreck for them, no need for embellishment.”

Steve catches his eye and a shiver goes through Tony that has nothing to do with the cold. “You’re no better or worse than anyone else, Tony, and anyone who told you otherwise—”

“Nobody had to tell me,” Tony says, but it’s a lie. He’s been hearing it since he was just a kid.

“They were wrong,” Steve repeats, jaw clenching.

“I’m cold. Let’s go back in.” Without waiting for an answer, Tony ducks back inside, beelining for the bar. He gets another scotch and downs it there.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. Dammit, why does he always fuck things up?

Things had been going fine and then he’d had to go and get all defensive because Steve was being nice. What the hell is wrong with him?

He orders another scotch, ignoring the bartender’s judgmental hairy eyeball.

Okay, it’s time to face the music. He wonders if Steve’s the polite kind who will let him stick around and then just never invite him back. Or maybe he’s more of a dick than he seems and Tony won’t be allowed back to the table at all. He almost heads for the door at that, but he’s got too much pride to let Steve get the last word, so he makes his way to the table.

Bruce and two dark haired girls have joined the others. Great, so there’s a full house for the blow out. Fantastic.

“Hi,” he says, to get their attention, and his voice is more clipped than he means for it to be. There’s still a space next to Steve so they must be the polite type. Figures.

“Tony,” Steve says and shoots to his feet. He looks—relieved. Weird.

Tony flashes him a press smile. “Yeah, hi there.”

Steve pulls out Tony’s chair and he slides into it, trying to stamp down the self-loathing frothing at the back of his throat. He’ll stay long enough to finish this drink and then—catch a cab or something.

“Hi Tony,” Bruce says, smile shy. “It’s good to see you again.”

Tony can’t help but relax a little, his smile losing some of its edge. “Hey there, Brucie-bear. You didn’t smash anything this week. Nice work.”

Bruce grins and his head dips forward to hide it, curls falling over his forehead. “Thanks,” he replies wryly.

“Tony Stark,” he says to the girls, who are eyeing him curiously, and reaches across the table. The one closest to Bruce reaches to shake, her eyes gleaming behind black framed glasses.

“Darcy Lewis,” she says. “S'up.”

Then Tony looks at the other woman, actually looks at her, and knows who she is. “And you’re Jane Foster.”

She looks surprised as she shakes his hand, Thor beaming like the sun beside her. “I—yes. Wow, Tony Stark knows who I am.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You revolutionized astrophysics. Of course I know who you are. I’d have to be an idiot not to. Not to sound too hipster, but I knew who you were before that too, your work is excellent; impeccable.”

Jane flushes a little and grins at him. “Wow. Um. Thanks?”

Tony glances over at Bruce. “She’s even worse at accepting a compliment than you are. Don’t they socialize scientists anymore?”

“Because you’re so well socialized,” Bruce replies and Tony’s grin stretches wider.

“I want to keep you. Do you want a lab? You too, Foster. Lab? I have many.”

“Tony, stop trying to give stuff to strangers,” a voice chides and Tony jerks, whips around.

It’s Rhodey, standing there trying to look stern, but looking like he’s fighting a grin instead.

“RHODEY!” Tony shouts, and launches himself out of his chair.

Rhodey’s grin breaks free. “Hey, Tones. How you doing?”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warnings: implied emotional abuse
> 
> slight change from last installment included at the beginning of this one. :DDD

“SUGAR BEE!” Tony shouts, and launches himself out of his chair.

Rhodey’s grin breaks free. “Hey, Tones. How you doing?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Tony asks, eyes skimming over him. He looks good, isn’t favoring anything as far as Tony can tell, but it’s hard to tell with the jacket and the scarf. “Are you okay? How’d you find me?”

“Tracked your phone, you idiot, how else?” Rhodey says, grinning. “I’m fine.”

It’s been months, God, it’s so good to see him. “What are you doing here?” he asks again. He should probably let go of him but he really doesn’t want to.

“What, I can't—”

“You’re Tiberius?” Steve interrupts and Tony’s so shocked by the blatant rudeness of it, he has to turn to confirm it was him. Steve’s been nothing but unfailingly polite so far.

“No,” Tony says and hears Clint, Natasha, and Sam’s voices layered with his own and Rhodey’s scandalized, “What? No!”

The hard set of Steve’s brow softens and he turns faintly pink. “Oh. I— I’m sorry.”

“This is Rhodey,” Tony explains.

Rhodey hooks his arm around Tony’s neck and pulls him close. “I’m his best friend. Colonel James Rhodes of the United States Air Force. You are?”

There’s some serious posturing going on there which, strangely enough, Tony sees echoed back in the faces of Steve and his friends. They seem…suspicious. Well, except Sam, who looks like a kid on Christmas morning.

Steve blurts, “Steve—City Emergency Services,” still looking mortified. The others introduce themselves one at a time, polite but wary, at least until Sam’s up. He’s all lit up when he says, “I don’t know if you remember me—”

But recognition dawns on Rhodey’s face and he smiles, arm relaxing around Tony’s neck. “Oh my god, Wilson. Now that’s something else, how the hell are you?” He reaches across the table to shake Sam’s hand and Tony can’t help how he grins at the huge smile on Sam’s face.

“I’m good, I’m good, man. You’re obviously doing well, got promoted.”

Rhodey glances down, the way he always does when someone mentions his achievements. Tony squeezes his ass and Rhodey jerks, glares at him.

“We’re very proud,” Tony says and Rhodey’s mouth ticks upward.

“You got out?”

“I did,” Sam says agreeably. “C'mon, sit, sit! Have a few drinks with us!”

So they do. The bartender brings over fresh glasses and a couple more pitchers of beer.

“I’m working at the VA now,” Sam goes on.

“I heard about Riley,” Rhodey says, sobering. “I’m sorry.”

Sam’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You and me both, brother.”

“You never said what you’re doing in town,” Tony says to Rhodey when Sam starts to look suspiciously glassy-eyed.

Rhodey smiles at him, grips his shoulder and shakes him a little. “I am here to see _you_.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. I’ve got a few days before I have to be back in Washington.”

Tony grins and feels it go a little silly. “God, it’s good to see you.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, interrupting again, what is going on with him? “but did you say you found him using the GPS on his phone?”

Tony catches Rhodey’s eye because they both know what actually happened was Rhodey asked JARVIS, but, eh, semantics.

Rhodey says, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

A laugh bursts out of Tony. “Hey, Shortbread, come on, what’s with the third degree?”

On his other side, Steve’s mouth thins. “I guess I’m old fashioned; it just seems to me if Tony wanted you to know where he was, he’d tell you you if you asked.”

“Not if he wanted to _surprise me_ ,” Tony cuts in. Rhodey eyes Steve thoughtfully. The others—except Sam, beautiful beautiful Sam—don’t seem to be warming to Rhodey either, what the hell. That’s not acceptable. He sits forward. “Did you guys know Sam and Rhodey worked together on the EXO-7. But shh, that’s technically Top Secret, you didn’t hear it from me. Sorry Rhodey. Bruce, Jane, Rhodey went to MIT with me. He got a Masters in Aerospace Engineering, which really does not do justice to how brilliant he is, okay, but trust me, he is, and—”

“Hey, whoa, whoa, Tony, relax,” Rhodey says, hand gripping the juncture of his neck gently, but firmly and pulling him back. “It’s okay,” he says, smiling. “I’m giving your new friends a hard time. I’m sorry, I’ll stop.” Then he looks back at the others and adds, “And I’m sorry to all of you. People don’t always have the best intentions where Tony is concerned and I guess I’m a little bit overprotective.”

“A little bit, right,” Tony mutters under his breath and grins when Rhodey elbows him in the ribs.

He gets a lot of looks from the rest of the group, measuring and assessing, and he clears his throat. “Enough with the posturing now, hm? Let’s get back to drinking.”

“Hear hear,” Clint says and lifts his glass.

“To friends!” Thor calls and smiles start to spread around the table. Everyone lifts a glass.

“ _Skál!_ ”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warnings: implied emotional abuse

Things go back to being pleasant after that, and, to Tony’s surprise, he starts catching Steve looking at him and smiling even though…huh.

Bucky is still quiet, glaring at him and Rhodey both.

“Okay,” Clint says, “so what does a billionaire do all day anyway?”

“Clint!” Natasha and Steve exclaim, but Tony laughs.

“Well, since Pepper took over as CEO I have a little more free time. There are a lot of meetings still, which is horrible. I make stuff mostly. Someone’s gotta keep the place flush with innovations.”

“Right,” Clint jokes, “bigger and better ways to kill people.”

Tony goes stiff, fingers tightening around his glass. “I don’t do that anymore.”

He can shake sex tapes and beach orgy scandals and alcoholism, but he’s never going to stop being the merchant of death.

"Forgive him,” Natasha says, mashing Clint’s face into the table. “He’s uncultured swine who doesn’t read the papers.”

“Sorry,” Clint says, “ow—I really don’t, the news is depressing.” Natasha lets him up and he rubs at his cheek; he actually looks apologetic. “So you don’t make weapons. What do you do now?”

Tony eyes him another beat. Then glances around at the equally embarrassed expressions on his friends’ faces. “Couple of things,” he says finally. “Robotics mostly. Phones, tablets. I just got the green light to go ahead with a prosthetics division.”

“What?” Rhodey says. “You didn’t tell me that. That’s great, Tony!”

Tony smiles and glances over at Bucky who possibly looks slightly less severe than he did a second ago? “Yeah, it’s good news.” He points to his own ear and says to Clint, “That’s why I— Sorry again.”

“Prosthetics,” Thor says, trying the word out, his brow furrowed slightly. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with this term. What does it mean?”

“They’re specialized devices for people with disabilities,” Tony explains. “Lose a leg, you get an artificial one. The technology’s moving along, but I think I can push it farther, make it more affordable. Soldiers who come back from overseas shouldn’t have to wait. They shouldn’t be coming back with 60% of the body they left with and have no way to pay for the tools they need to go back to living. They deserve better than that. I can give it to them.”

“This isn’t an investor’s meeting, Tones, chill,” Rhodey says, and Tony realizes he’s on the edge of his seat, his heart pumping hard behind the reactor.

“Hey, shut up,” Bucky snaps and Tony and Rhodey both turn to look at him in surprise. “Let him talk.”

“Buck,” Steve chides, voice gentle, “it’s okay, Rhodey doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Bucky ignores him, glaring obstinately at Rhodey. “Go on,” he prods Tony. “You were saying.”

Tony’s amused, but he goes with it, resisting the urge to grin at Rhodey. He shrugs. “I’m a futurist. I want to make things better.” His nose wrinkles. “Before I didn't— I couldn’t see the big picture. I thought, ‘Give American soldiers weapons to defend themselves, they’ll do their job, bam, world better.’ But that’s not—that’s not how it works. And I learned that.” He huffs, skimming a thumbnail over the bottom edge of the arc reactor, subtle enough no one else will see it. “The hard way. I’m making up for it the best I can. People—we, humanity, deserve better. So I gotta give it my best, right?”

Even if it’s never enough.

His heart beat picks up a little when he sees Steve looking at him expression warm with something Tony isn’t sure how to describe.

Then Clint says, “Then hell yeah you can look at my aid. If it’ll help you do that, then I’m all for it.”

“I’d be interested in contributing, if that’s something you—”

“Yes,” Tony says, before Bruce can even finish. “Absolutely.” He slips a card across the table to both of them. “Set it up with Pepper. I haven’t worked much with audio tech, aside from the comms systems in Iron Man—“ He raises an eyebrow at Clint. “You know what Iron Man is right?”

Clint screws up his face, mock-thoughtful. “Think so. Porn actor, right?”

“Asshole,” Tony huffs, but he’s grinning.

–

“Where’s Happy?” Rhodey asks later when they’re exiting the bar. Steve is at their back, a strangely comforting presence. Tony’s more than a little drunk, so he’s working extra hard not to wobble as he walks. He’s loose and happy though, his abs aching from laughing and his skin tingling from having Steve and Rhodey in contact with him almost unceasingly all night.

Tony scuffs his shoe on the sidewalk and his leg forgets what’s going on halfway through the stride. He starts to drop, but Steve’s big hands catch him around the waist, hauling him up quick and he moves into the next step like it never happened, rolling his eyes at Rhodey. “C'mon, Gingersnap. You know he’s head of Security these days. He’s probably back at the Tower watching people on the monitors.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes right back at him. “You know what I meant. Where’s your _ride?_ ”

Tony bites his lip and gestures to the bike sitting at the curb.

Rhodey looks, stops, and stares. “You’re kidding me.”

Tony grins. “Nope.” He turns back far enough so he can pat Steve’s shoulder. “It’s Steve’s.”

That makes Rhodey’s eyebrows crawl toward his hairline. “You came with Steve.”

Steve does his part and looks as wholesome and respectable as humanly possible. It’s extremely effective.

“I came with Steve,” Tony agrees. Then giggles.

“Not like that,” Steve assures Rhodey, but he’s fighting a smile.

“Okay,” Rhodey says, gripping Tony’s shoulder, “you and me? We need to talk.”

Tony laughs. “Sure thing, Pudding Pop.”

“It was good to meet you,” Steve says and holds out a hand.

Tony leans into Rhodey’s shoulder while they shake, pleased at the way Rhodey smiles warmly and says, “Likewise.” Then Rhodey’s arm comes up around him and he’s drawn into a tight hug. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

Tony squeezes him back. “Pooh Bear, you can see me whenever you want.”

He withdraws and Tony sways forward, caught again by Steve’s hands. “All right. You drive safe,” he orders Steve.

“I will,” he replies solemnly.

Then Rhodey is gone and Tony is left leaning into Steve’s side. He’s warm. Smells good. Tony turns his face into his chest to inhale the scent more deeply.

Steve huffs and cups his face with one hand. “Come on,” he says, voice soft, “let’s get you home.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warnings: implied emotional abuse

Steve shoulders through the door after two AM.

The apartment’s dark, blue moonlight trickling in through the  gaps in the curtain at the far end of the living room. He’s tired, a pleasant exhaustion making his body heavy. Tonight had its ups and downs, but overall he’s happy about how things went. He can still feel the weight of Tony against his back, his arms warm around his waist.

He hangs his helmet on the hook by the door and shrugs out of his jacket before shuffling into the kitchen to stoop over the sink and get a drink from the faucet.

Wiping his mouth on the hem of his shirt, he heads for his room, startling when he notices the figure sitting in the chair by the window.

He flicks on the light. “Buck, what the hell.”

“I was wonderin’ if you’d be home tonight.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. “So what if I weren’t?”

Bucky’s head rolls to the side, his expression supremely unimpressed. “What the hell are you doing, Steve?”

“Well, I was trying to go to bed,” Steve starts, jerking his thumb toward the bedroom.

Bucky’s mouth thins. “Don’t be coy with me, Steve, you know what I mean.”

Steve sighs, lets his shoulders drop. “What do you want me to say, Buck?”

“I want you to look me in the eye and tell me you know what you’re doing. Tony Stark?” He sits forward, eyes glinting. “You know S.H.I.E.L.D. had him slated for the Avengers at one point.”

Steve shifts, crossing his arms. “I know,” he admits. “I mean, I know he was considered. I always meant to look into it more. Why he wasn’t chosen, but…” His smiles crookedly. “Then you showed up and it slipped my mind.”

“I tried to kill you,” Bucky says, voice flat.

Steve cuts him a sharp look. “You didn’t do anything. You were drugged, under Hydra’s control.”

He sits back in the chair with _fwoomp_ , scowling. “You’ve got _no_ goddamn sense, Steve.”

“What’s your problem? Why are you fighting this so hard? You’ve always pushed me to find somebody, so what is it? Is it because he’s a guy?”

“No!” Bucky snaps. “Don’t be fucking stupid, Steve. That has nothing to do with it!”

“Then what?”

Bucky’s expression works through a variety of emotions, hands curling with frustration. “He’s in a _relationship_ , Steve. With a messed up guy if what you’ve told me is right. If what I saw tonight was any indication.”

Steve grimaces, rakes a hand through his hair. “It’s an open relationship.”

The look Bucky gives him makes it clear that’s every bit as weak as it sounds. “Great. That’s fantastic. Really, makes it all better.”

“Fuck you,” Steve snaps. “I don’t need your permission.”

“No, you’ve never needed my permission to run with your stupid, cockamamie ideas! How’s that working out for you so far Steve, huh?”

Steve rocks back, stunned. Bucky immediately looks stricken, apologetic.

“Shit. Steve, I didn’t mean—”

“I like him, Buck,” Steve says quietly. “I don’t know if it’s going anywhere, I don’t care. He needs someone. Even if it’s just as friends, I want to be there. He’s a good man.”

Bucky sighs, but there’s no real fight in his voice when he says, “You barely know him.”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

They’re quiet for a minute, then Bucky offers: “Rhodey seemed okay. Sam likes him.”

Steve huffs, sliding his hands in his pockets. “You trust Sam’s judgment over mine?”

Bucky snorts. Someone moves in the hall behind Steve and he jumps, turning. It’s Sam, droopy-eyed, one hand scratching at his belly. “Course he does. Your judgment is awful. No offense. How long are you two gonna be up having it out out here?”

“We were being loud,” Steve says. “Sorry Sam.”

“Sorry,” Bucky echoes with a grimace.

“I’ll get over it,” Sam says, amused. He leans one hip against the wall and crosses his arms. “Shoulda known you two were gonna want to talk this out. Are you done treating Steve like a scrawny little punk?”

Bucky flushes.

“And are you done treating him like he hasn’t got some valid concerns?” Sam goes on, gaze swinging over to Steve.

“I think we understand each other,” Bucky says.

“Good. Now if you want my opinion—and I know you do—Rhodey is good people. From what I understand, he’s the one who pushed the army to keep searching for Tony long after they woulda normally called the whole thing off. They’re tight. And I don’t think he’s someone you two need to be ganging up on in the future.”

“He used Tony’s phone to track his location without permission,” Steve points out.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “And how many times has Nat tracked you?”

Steve opens his mouth to protest and subsides before he makes a sound, nodding in concession. “Okay, Rhodes is on our side.”

“Oh, we’re all on a side now?” Sam says, voice thick with amusement.

“You think something’s off with this Tiberius, too, don’t you?”

Sam takes a breath, sighs, and nods his head. “Yeah, I think something’s up. Maybe it’s a little something, but my gut says it’s not. What do you plan to do about it?”

“Nothing. I don’t know anything for sure and even if I did, I don’t think Tony’s ready to hear it.”

“But you want something more with him,” Bucky says.

It pains him, but Steve agrees, “Yeah. The last time I felt…” He can’t find the words for what he feels.

Sam’s eyebrows go up. “Oh. Man, that's—”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face. “I know.”

“That’s why I’m worried,” Bucky says pointedly. “If S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn’t trust him to join the Avengers they’re never gonna agree to let you tell him everything. And if he’s in a relationship as bad as what we think? You can’t do that to him, Steve.”

“I won’t lie to him,” Steve insists.

Sam eyes him sympathetically. “Man, you already have.”

“I haven’t. Everything I’ve told him is true. I’ve been careful.”

“How long do you think that’s gonna fly, Stevie?” Bucky asks. His face is soft, dark eyes sympathetic.

“I’m not just gonna cut and run,” Steve says stubbornly. “We need to find out why he was rejected by S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Sam shakes his head, wipes a hand over his face. “Hoo boy. This is gonna get ugly.”

“What did I tell you,” Bucky says. “He’s a magnet for trouble.”

Sam chuckles. “You did not exaggerate.”

“Are you gonna do this with me?” Steve asks, hoping to God that they will. He talks a big game and he’s going to help Tony whether they back him or not, but it would mean a load off his shoulders to have them there with him.

“Idiot,” Bucky mutters. “You know I’ll always have your six.”

Sam smiles. “Someone’s gotta keep your crazy contained.”

Steve lets out a breath of relief. “Thank you,” he says, meeting both their eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says. “Can I go to sleep now?”

Steve huffs. “Yeah, Sam. Go get your twelve hours.”

“Ha ha!” Sam calls as he heads back down the hall.

When Steve turns back, Bucky’s standing close. He reaches out, brushes Steve’s wrist with his fingers. “Just…be careful, Stevie, okay? I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Steve’s fingers curl, resisting the urge to reach out. “Thanks, Bucky.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> this is tragically short because i got sidetracked writing a future scene. woops

“Babe, you should meet me for lunch,” Ty says the following morning when Tony’s getting dressed, his hands sliding under the waistband of Tony’s slacks so he can squeeze handfuls of his ass.

“I told you not to call me that,” Tony says, slipping his tie into place. “And I can’t. I’m having lunch with Rhodey.”

Ty stills. “You didn’t tell me Rhodey was coming,” he says petulantly.

“That’s because I didn’t know,” Tony says and pulls Ty’s hands out of his pants before tucking his shirt back in. He turns to look at Tiberius. “Promise me you’re not gonna get into it with him.”

Ty’s mouth thins. “I’m not the one who—”

Tony cuts him off. “Yeah, but you don’t help. Come on. Please. He’s my best friend.”

“I thought I was your best friend,” Ty says and Tony grimaces. God, why can’t he do anything right?

“You are,” he says. “You know what I meant. Please? He’s only going to be here a few days. I don’t want to fight.”

Tiberius sighs. “I hope you’re giving him this talk, too.”

“Of course,” Tony says, and makes a mental note to remind Rhodey that his relationship is off limits.

“Fine, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Tony presses a kiss to his mouth.

“Just remember how generous I am next time you’re mad at me.”

Tony huffs and kisses him again. “See you tonight?”

“No, production is wrapping up. It will be a late night. Enjoy your time with Rhodey.” Tiberius smacks Tony’s ass before he saunters into the shower.

–

Tony looks at his watch at a quarter to one and spins around in his chair. “Any last requests before I go, Potts?”

She looks up at him. “Go go or go-to-lunch go?”

“Lunch, I won’t abandon you completely. Rhodey’s in town.”

“Oh,” she says, and her whole demeanor softens. “Rhodey’s visiting?” Her expression turns a little sad before she can get her eyes on her papers again. “Tell him I said hello, would you?”

Tony watches her for a beat, chest aching. God, he misses her.

“You should come.”

She looks up, eyes widening. “Excuse me?”

“You,” Tony repeats, more slowly this time. “You should come with. He’d like to see you.”

“Oh, no, Tony. I couldn’t. I—”

He looks down at his hands, picks at a bit of oil under his thumbnail. “I’d like it, too. If you came.”

It’s silent for a long moment. Then Pepper says softly, “Okay. I’d like that, too.”

–

Tony’s pleased with himself when Rhodey’s face splits into a grin at the sight of her, Pepper’s face warming with the genuine kind of smile he hasn’t seen in months, almost relieved.

“It’s so good to see you,” she says and Rhodey hugs her tight.

“You too.”

For the first time in a long time, everything feels like normal. He gets to hear Pepper laugh and watch her put her face in her hand, muttering, “Oh god.” He gets to see Rhodey smiling and leaned back in his chair like there’s nothing in the world he’d rather be doing. It’s perfect. Everything is perfect.

“Have you met these new friends of his?” Rhodey asks Pepper at one point and she sips at her drink, shakes her head.

“No, no, I know he gave someone named Steve his private line—”

“Wow,” Rhodey says, staring at him and Tony laughs.

“What? I’m a grown adult. I can give away my phone number to random strangers if I want.”

“Yes, and normally when you do that, I end up having to get you a new phone entirely,” Pepper says.

“Well, _I_ met them,” Rhodey says and Pepper perks up.

“Oh? What are they like?”

“Be nice,” Tony warns Rhodey.

“Am I ever anything but?” Rhodey replies with mock-affront. Then to Pepper he says, like he’s reassuring her, “They seem like nice people.”

Pepper looks at Tony. “How many of them are there?”

“A few, you know, a handful—”

“Eight, that were there last night. Who knows if there are others.”

“Oh my god!” Pepper exclaims, staring at Tony. “Eight people? Did you befriend an entire group?”

Tony can’t help it, he starts laughing again. “I don’t know, I guess so. Steve has a lot of friends.”

“He seems like a decent guy,” Rhodey says agreeably. He smirks at Pepper. “Got pissed at me because I got JARVIS to tell me where he was without his permission. Said—what was it he said, Tones?”

“Oh my god, no, I am not helping you,” Tony says; he’s still laughing.

“Oh, he says, ‘I guess I’m old fashioned; it just seems to me if Tony wanted you to know where he was, he’d tell you you if you asked.'”

“He _did?_ ” Pepper says. “Oh, Tony you have to keep him.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Tony says. “Not that General Grumpy over here made it that easy, he was giving them the third-degree last night.”

“Well, excuse me, your judgment in character is a little lacking.”

“People don’t make sense,” Tony says, waving it off. “Machines make sense.”

“You can’t be friends with a machine, Tony,” Pepper says, watching him with fond exasperation.

“Hey, that’s offensive to DUM-E.”

Pepper holds her hands up in surrender, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey says, leaning forward over the table, “do you think your friends would want to hang out again tonight?”

Tony blinks at him in surprise. “What, seriously?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I want to get to know them a little better.”

“Oh, I see. You just want to scope them out some more.”

Rhodey grins, unrepentant. “Good intel is important.”

“I dunno, I can text Steve and find out.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Rhodey says.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here

Steve, Thor, Bruce, and Natasha end up being available.

 _Addresses?_ Tony texts Steve. _We can pick you up._

 _I’ll have everyone come to my place,_ Steve replies. _Where are we going?_

 _Surprise_ , Tony tells him. _Be ready at six._

Later that evening when the limo is pulling up to Yankee Stadium and Steve is twisting in his seat trying to see out of the windows all at once, his eyes wide with shock, Tony congratulates himself for that decision.

“Oh god,” Natasha says. “You just made his whole year.” She and Pepper are sitting together at the far end of the limo, chatting like old friends, which Tony guesses they sort of are, if one can make friends with someone who spends a week under false pretenses working for you and then helps save your life. Pepper’s face had lit up when she’d seen her though, so there’s something there obviously.

Tony grins. “He likes baseball?”

“Understatement of the century,” Natasha replies.

“ _It’s Opening Day,_ ” Steve says. He’s totally oblivious.

Tony’s grin stretches wider. “It sure is. And I’ve got a private box.”

Steve tears his eyes away from the stadium to stare. “You’re serious.”

Tony shrugs. “Helps make business deals.” He reaches over and pats Rhodey’s knee. “Plus, Angel Cake likes going to the occasional game.”

“This is a big deal?” Thor says, the slang carefully spoken.

“Nice work with the vocab,” Tony tells him and Thor smiles, clearly pleased.

“Private boxes are expensive,” Pepper explains. “And Opening Day is the first game of the season. Are you familiar with baseball at all?”

“I know that Steve enjoys it very much, but I do not find much appeal myself,” he admits. “It is a leisurely game.”

“You’re excused because you’re not from earth,” Rhodey says, shaking his head.

“It’s okay Big Guy,” Tony says and reaches over to pat one of his massive shoulders. “I think it’s boring, too.”

“Heathen,” Rhodey mutters.

“There will be food, booze, and two thousand HD channels for us heathens. What about you Romanova? You a baseball fan?”

She shrugs. “I don’t care much either way, but it’s a riot watching Steve.”

“Ha ha,” Steve says, staring up at the walls of the park as he exits the limo, expression almost reverent. “Jeez, it’s so expensive nowadays, I haven’t been to a game since—”

He doesn’t say since when, his awareness coming back for just a second, which he uses to glance at Tony before he’s gawking again. Tony wonders what it is he’d holding back.

“What about you, Brucie, baby? Baseball fan?”

Bruce smiles. “Not avid, the way Steve is, but I do enjoy it, yes.”

“Perfect,” Tony says and rubs his hands together.

They find their way through the stadium to the box, where Steve’s kid-like wonder gives way to a tight uncertainty.

The box is tastefully decorated in dark wood and a pale gold color, a couple of high-tops set up near the glass overlooking home base. There are flat screens on the interior walls, a granite countertop where buckets of ice filled with beer and a couple bottles of wine and plates of Tony’s favorite food selections are already waiting for them.

Bruce looks equally uncomfortable. Tony frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s…lavish,” Steve says. He does his best to stifle it, but he’s still grimacing when he says, “You watch through the glass?”

“It’s temperature controlled,” Tony says blankly. He’s never gotten a reaction like this. “There’s an open air area,” he says, pointing to the door that leads out to the row of bartops at the front of the box.

Steve seems to think he’s said the wrong thing, because his expression turns apologetic. “Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just—different than what I’m used to. It’s great, Tony. Thank you for bringing us here. You didn’t have to do this.”

Tony watches the others move in, perfectly comfortable and already peeking into the cabinets along the wall and nods. “It’s no big deal.”

Steve smiles, the warmth coming back into it. “It is though. And I appreciate it.”

He and Rhodey wind up camped out at the front, despite the chill in the early April air. Natasha’s right, it’s really fun watching Steve get into the game. He swears like a sailor; it’s hysterical. Rhodey, who’s usually pretty laid back, gets into it too and it turns into a feedback loop between them. Tony’s beyond thrilled that they’re getting along so well.

When the third inning is getting started, Steve comes back inside. “I want to get a better view,” he says and Tony scoffs.

“A better view? You can see how tight the fabric is across their asses, how much better can it get?”

Steve gives him a wry look. “Of the game, Tony.”

“Okay, okay.” He relents. “I’ll come with.”

Steve looks surprised and pleased. It makes Tony feel warm all the way to his toes. The others quickly agree to go along as well and for the first time in his life, Tony winds up out in the stadium proper, sitting in fold down chairs with a plastic cup of beer. Steve buys popcorn and peanuts on their way, ranting about the price the minute the vendor’s out of earshot. “Seven dollars!” he exclaims. “ _Seven dollars_.”

“Yes, I heard the man,” Tony says, amused. “It’s a baseball game, Steve. Even I know the prices for ballpark food are absurd. It’s part of the experience.”

Steve makes more noise about it, huffing and puffing all while his eyes stay glued to the game as he shovels popcorn in his mouth. Tony catches Natasha’s eye behind Steve’s back and she just grins.

During lulls in the game they sing and stomp and do the wave. Thor smacks a kiss on Natasha’s cheek when the Kiss Cam lands on them at one point. Steve buys nachos and eats one, face immediately contorting. “God, these are awful,” he says, but he keeps eating them. Tony can’t stop laughing. He and Bruce talk about the prosthetics line. It’s incredible what Bruce knows, and Tony’s sure it will help him make the line better than it ever could have been in his hands alone. They look up whenever Steve and Rhodey shoot to their feet, and cheer along with them even though they have no idea what’s going on.

Even with all the regular movement the announcers coax them into, Tony’s freezing by the time the sixth inning rolls around.

“Here,” Steve says, leather jacket sliding off his shoulders. “You’re shaking, Tony. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the box? We can.”

“I’m sure,” Tony insists, but he accepts the jacket, letting out a shuddering sigh as he slips it around his shoulders. It’s huge and warm and it smells like nirvana. “You won’t be cold?”

“Nah,” Steve says, grinning at him. His face is flushed pink, from either the cold or the excitement. Maybe both. “Too worked up, I'll—” He breaks off mid-sentence and starts spewing profanity at the umpire. It’s quite possibly the greatest thing Tony’s ever seen in his life.

“You are like Jekyll and Hyde,” he calls over Steve’s raised voice. Steve has the good grace to look embarrassed, but then the ball cracks as it hits the bat and he and Rhodey start pawing at each other, gasping and shouting. This time Tony knows what he’s cheering for when the ball soars over the fence, his screams swallowed up by the voices of the uproar in the crowd around them.

He’s going to have to rethink his stance on baseball.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warning: implied abusive relationship

The crowd is still thrumming with energy after the way the game ended, and despite the smattering of yawns here and there, the majority are still in good spirits, huddling together for warmth. Tony’s not sure how, but at some point when they’re making their way back out of the stadium, he ends up sitting on Thor’s shoulders, giggling like a little kid–and he’s _sober_. “You are in _sane_ , you know that?” he says. “I’m not heavy at all, seriously?”

Thor cranes his neck to look up at him, smiling. “Nay, I could toss you like one of your baseballs.”

“How high?” Tony asks. “Three feet? Five? Ten?”

“I’m afraid I am not familiar with Midgardian measurements.” He looks around, then points to a light post. “I could toss you over one of these with ease.”

“Fifteen feet, seriously?” Tony says and starts running the math in his head. “ _Really?_ ”

“No,” Rhodey cuts in sternly. “ _No_.”

“Come on, Rhodey!” Tony protests. “For science. Thor will catch me!”

“Aye, t'would be no mean feat.”

“No,” Rhodey repeats.

“Another day,” Thor says in a lowly voice and Tony grins.

“No, Thor,” Steve says and Tony looks back at him in surprise. He’d heard that over the noise of the crowd from all the way back there?

Steve sees him looking and goes pink. “Good hearing,” he explains.

“I’ll say,” Tony replies.

“You want to hear something really impressive?” Bruce asks. “Thor, tell him how much you weigh.”

“Six hundred and forty of your Midgardian pounds,” Thor announces, sounding pleased with himself.

“No shit!” Tony exclaims. “Where are you keeping it all? Steve’s almost as big as you are—how much do you weigh, Steve?”

“240,” Steve replies.

“And you’re six forty?” Tony says, and reaches to squeeze Thor’s bicep. Thor laughs.

“Wild, right?” Bruce says. “Can you guess why?”

“Well, it’s obviously not mass,” Tony says, leaning this way and that to look down the length of Thor’s body. “Super dense?”

“That’s it,” Bruce confirms.

“Incredible,” Tony says. “And there are no adverse affects?”

“None that we’ve observed,” Bruce says. “I mean, we haven’t tried letting him sit on IKEA furniture or anything, but, yeah. I don’t know how swimming would work. Obviously his bones are incredibly strong, his muscles too, carrying that kind of weight all the time.”

“Wow. Thor, buddy, you’re making me feel wildly inadequate. I don’t think I could lift you even in the suit. I’d have to add supplemental propulsion.”

“Ah, yes!” Thor says, hands clapping Tony’s knees. “Tell me more of your Iron Man. I have heard little of this in the news and it seems something Midgardians would have much to say about.”

Some of the buzz goes out of Tony. “Yeah, I…don’t do as much as I probably should. My guy tends to throw a fit if I don’t focus my free time on him, you know? Anyone teach you the phrase ‘the old ball and chain’ yet?”

Thor shakes his head. “Nay, I have not heard this yet. Ball and chain—this references imprisonment, does it not? It seems strange, to imply that your partner is a burden.”

“No, well, I mean, yeah,” Tony says, and his brow furrows as he tries to figure out how to explain it. “That’s the joke, you don’t get to have fun once you’re stuck with somebody. Don’t you feel like you could have more fun without Jane?”

Thor twists around looking shocked. “Quite the opposite. Jane makes me a better man. I have rarely felt joy the likes of which I feel in her presence.”

“Really,” Tony says. “Never. You never feel like you wish you were single?”

“'Never’ is too strong a word. There are of course times when I yearn for the freedom of such solitude, but they are seldom and far between. Perhaps as frequently as an Asgardian is defeated in battle.” Thor grins up at him, wicked and playful. “But truly. There is no time better spent than that I spend with Jane. Do you not feel this way about your Tiberius?”

“I love him,” Tony says, because he doesn’t know what else to.

Thor smiles at him again, his expression strangely gentle. “I do not doubt that you do. It is a difficult thing, loving someone who would treat you harshly just as readily as they would treat you with kindness.”

“What do you mean?” Tony asks, and doesn’t realize how tense he is until Thor replies with a melancholy sigh, “I had a brother. Loki.  He…was troubled.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” Bruce says, eyebrows high on his forehead. He catches Tony looking at him and pushes his glasses up. “He sent a firebreathing doom bot and leveled a small town in New Mexico trying to kill Thor. And, uh, I didn’t tell you that.”

Tony stares down at Thor’s head. “He tried to _kill_ you?”

“As I said, he was troubled,” Thor sighs. “Perhaps if I had been a better brother to him, he would not have been lost to me.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Thor,” Bruce says, brushing his elbow with the tips of his fingers.

Tony can tell the smile Thor gives Bruce for that isn’t as bright as the usual ones. “Aye, he made his choices. Perhaps they were poor ones, but I loved him nonetheless.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, not knowing what else to say.

“Thank you, Tony,” Thor says. “I tell you this, not so that you would pity me, but so that you would know that sometimes love is not enough. I do not wish to meddle, I would only ask that if you feel your Tiberius to be your 'ball and chain’, that you would consider what I have said.”

“Uh, thanks, buddy,” Tony says, patting his shoulder, “but were all good. Ty wouldn’t try to kill me.”

“Then I am glad you have found a true companion,” Thor says. “Come, the limo awaits us.”

Thor is sentimental, Tony tells himself. Nobody’s relationship is that good. What he has with Ty is great.

He doesn’t think about how his time with Steve never feels like enough.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> i got out of the groove, so this bit is really short *sad trombone noise*
> 
> Warning: emotionally abusive relationship

Tony tells Rhodey he’ll cook the last night he’s in town, to which Rhodey immediately counters, “ _I’ll_ cook.”

Tony scoffs and feigns hurt, but it’s better that way. Rhodey’s a great cook whereas he’s…distractable.

Because he’s an asshole, Tony has JARVIS turn the lights down low and he lights candles, breaks out a good bottle of wine. Rhodey snorts when the whole picture’s presented to him. “Cute.”

“I’m adorable,” Tony agrees and takes the dishes out of his hands. Rhodey goes back to the kitchen for the rest. They get settled in, wine poured and bread broken, Tony’s legs tucked around Rhodey’s. They get so wrapped up in their conversation that Tony forgets about everything beyond the table.

“Well, this looks cozy.”

“Hey, honey!” Tony says, immediately turning to greet Ty and tilting his face up for a kiss.

Ty leans in to close the gap, eyes going over the table as he kisses Tony, his hand stroking Tony’s hair and coming to rest at the back of his neck. “This looks nice,” he says. “Candles?”

“Ambiance is important,” Tony says.

“Be honest, Rhodes, you’ve come just to seduce my boyfriend,” Ty says. “Tony, this isn’t what we agreed to.”

His mouth drops open, brain scrambling for an explanation. All they’d agreed was that they’d see other people. But Steve had expected terms? Had they set terms?? And he blocked it out, or…? _Again_?

“Oh, would you relax?” Ty says and takes Tony’s shoulder, gives him a shake. “I’m _kidding_.”

Rhodey smiles, but his teeth are gritted.

Tony laughs, panicked and relieved all at once.

“Funny,” Rhodey says.

“I won’t intrude,” Tiberius says, “I just wanted to say hello.” He leans down and kisses Tony, deep, filthy.

A hot rush of embarrassment goes through him and Tony has to fight the urge to back out of the kiss, then to force down the rush of shame at wanting Ty gone, for wishing he and Rhodey had never crossed paths.

After what feels like an eternity, Ty nips at his lips, makes them sting, and then straightens back up.

“Uh, night,” Tony says, tongue flitting over the swollen spot on his lip.

“See you later,” Ty says, eyes lidded. Rhodey looks like he’s been sucking on a lemon, but his mouth is firmly shut. “Nice seeing you, Rhodes.”

“You too,” he replies stiffly and turns his head to stare out the window as Ty leaves.

The room is torturously quiet in his wake.

“Sorry,” Tony says, forcing his voice light. “Ty’s a fan of PDA.”

Rhodey’s hand curls into a fist on the table, his jaw ticking. After another endless silence he says, too level, “You were telling me about Happy and Pepper.”

“Right,” Tony blurts, and launches back into the story with more enthusiasm than it warrants, but he’s dizzyingly, sickeningly grateful not to have to get into it.

It spoils the rest of the night though.

After he hugs Rhodey good night he goes back to his and Ty’s bedroom. He wants to tell him, _I wish you hadn’t done that_. But… Done what? Said hello?

Ty smiles at him from the bed where he’s reading a tablet. “How was dinner, baby?”

“Good,” Tony murmurs.

“Are you upset because of Rhodes’ little display of jealousy?”

Tony huffs, snapping out of it a little. “What? Rhodey’s not jealous.”

Ty gives him a pitying look. “Please, babe, don’t insult me. I see the way he looks at me.”

“Rhodey’s not jealous,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. He moves toward the bed, gets in reach of Ty, who reaches out and reels him in by his waistband.

“If you say so,” Ty says and pushes up his shirt to suck a hickey into the skin over his hipbone. Then he drags him onto the bed and rolls on top of him, lips on Tony’s throat.

“Don’t,” Tony protests. “Not above my collar. _Ty_ —”

But he sucks a hickey just below Tony’s jaw and snickers.

“Dammit, Ty.”

“Oh, don’t be so fussy,” he says and starts to kiss his way down Tony’s chest.

One of these days, someone will listen to Tony.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warning: emotionally abusive relationship, racism, drinking (alcohol)

The next morning, Tony follows Rhodey down to the curb to see him off. “It was good to see you, Porcupine. You should ditch the brass more often.”

Rhodey smiles. “Someone’s gotta keep them in line.”

Tony sighs mournfully. “You’re right, of course you’re right. Duty’s a bitch.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Rhodey pulls him into a hug and Tony hooks his hands over his shoulders, squeezes him tight.

“Don’t do anything I would do,” he mutters and Rhodey chuckles, rubs his hand down Tony’s back in a firm, reassuring stroke.

“Keep me in the loop, Tones. I want to hear more about these new friends of yours.”

Tony snorts. “Yeah, sure sure.”

“Be safe,” Rhodey says, and leans back. His thumb brushes over the dark purple mark on Tony’s neck that he’d hastily tried, and failed, to cover with concealer. He winces away from the touch. Rhodey’s expression darkens. “You gotta stop letting him do this to you, Tony.”

Tony stiffens. They’d been so close to getting through this without rehashing this. “Rhodey,” he warns. “Don’t.”

His expression goes from worried to pissy in the span of a second and he lets go of Tony, glares at him. “No,” he snaps. “Don’t you fucking ‘don’t’ me, Tony. I did what you asked. I kept my mouth shut even when that asshole was mauling you at dinner last night. You have a rule about hickeys, the same goddamn rule you’ve had since you were twenty-four, and yet here you are, looking like you’ve gone three rounds with a vacuum cleaner. That guy is toxic. You’re too smart not to know that! What I don’t understand is why you refuse to see it and boot his ass to the curb!”

“Was this your plan the whole time?” Tony demands, and his mouth is trembling, blood rushing past his ears. “Just wait until the last second so you could get the last word in?”

Rhodey growls. “Would you _listen_ to me, Tony, Jesus, the guy is bad news!”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

Tony looks up and his blood runs cold. Tiberius, why the hell is Tiberius out here, there’s no reason why he should be—

“Fuck you, asshole,” Rhodey snaps and starts forward, his fist coming up.

 _“Rhodey!_ ” Tony yells and cuts between them, catching Rhodey’s arm in his hand. “Are you out of your mind?”

Tiberius’ voice goes cold and hard. “Leave now, or I’ll call the police.”

Rhodey looks impossibly angrier at that, rage seething from his skin, but he falls back. “That’s it,” he says to Tony, tuning Tiberius out entirely. “That’s it, Tony, I’m done.” A cold hard lump slides down Tony’s spine and settles in his stomach. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch you with this guy. You call me when you wise up.”

“Rhodey, come on—”

Tony’s skin crawls as he watches Rhodey disappear into the town car at the curb.

“Good riddance,” Tiberius mutters. “That animal was going to hit me, Tony, did you see?”

“He wasn’t,” Tony protests, even though he knows it’s a lie. His heart is racing and he just wants to go, be anywhere but here. “He wouldn’t. And don’t talk about him like that. He’s not a fucking animal.”

Tiberius stares at him incredulously. “Are you taking his side?”

“I’m not—I’m not taking _anyone’s_ side, you’re both acting insane. If you’d just get along—”

“He became physically violent with me, Tony, how can you defend him?”

“I’m _not_ ,  I just—”

“You _are_. Unbelievable. He’s trying to convince you I’m bad news and he’s the one two feet from an assault charge.”

Tony feels sick. “What are you even doing here?”

Tiberius rears back, affronted and Tony immediately knows he’s misstepped. “I came down to say goodbye because _you_ asked me to be civil to your friend. Next time I’ll be sure to bring a bodyguard.”

Tony flinches and Tiberius turns and stalks back into the Tower. Shit.

 _Shit_.

–

Tony goes to the workshop because he doesn’t know what else to do. Everything had been so great, how had it gone to hell so fast?

“Sir?” JARVIS says, uncertain.

“Music, J. Turn it up. Daddy needs to work.”

There’s a conspicuous, worried silence and then the opening notes of _Highway to Hell_. Tony wants to cry.

Instead, he digs a bottle out of a cabinet and sets to work demolishing it. He’s several gulps in and busily reducing one of his Corvettes to its base components when a screen appears in his peripheral. It’s Pepper. He quickly dismisses the call. He goes back to work, hoping he’ll be lucky and that will be that, but a minute later the music lowers and JARVIS says, “Sir, Miss Potts—”

“I know, I don’t care,” he says and takes a few long pulls out of the bottle, wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. His eyes are burning and he’s starting to feel off-balance. Why is this his _life_.

“But, sir—”

“No,” Tony snarls. “Tell her I’m not doing it, whatever it is.”

There’s a brief pause and then JARVIS says, “She is coming to get you, sir.”

That throws him into a panic. He’s not going to deal with her. Not right now. Not when she’ll side with Rhodey. She’ll be furious at him for ditching work, but it’s better than the alternative.

“Bye, I’m leaving,” he says. He hears JARVIS protest, but he ignores him, hurrying into the elevator. Which is a terrible idea he realizes once he’s reached the penthouse, there’s nowhere to go up here, JARVIS will tell Pepper where he is, he needs to get _out_.

He stumbles into the couch as he looks around for another option, the room giving a sluggish twirl in response to the sharp movement. Then he sees the landing platform.

The suit.

He can take the suit.

He practically runs to the platform. “Mark IV, JARVIS.”

“Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

“Didn’t ask what you thought,” Tony snaps. “Mark IV, now.”

Grudgingly, the assembler starts to move when he steps forward and less than a minute later, he’s enclosed in the dark, the suit cool and welcoming around him.

“For the record, I don’t approve of this at all,” JARVIS says, voice resentful.

“Yeah, join the club,” Tony mutters. He stares out at the New York skyline and anxiety starts to creep up on him, constricting his chest. Where the hell is he going to go? He’s alienated everyone close to him in the space of an hour.

“Sir,” JARVIS says softly. “Miss Potts is in the elevator.”

He could go to Malibu. Or maybe the mansion on 5th, Pepper won’t think of that for awhile. Then he sees Brooklyn just over the river and he knows exactly where to go.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warning: emotionally abusive relationship, drinking (alcohol), extremely poor decision-making

“Shit,” Steve mutters, realizing the second the door closes behind him that he’s left his sketchbook in the apartment. He’ll have to go back up and get it. He sighs and turns back, punching the access code into the keypad.

Something hits the sidewalk a few feet behind him with a _BANG_ -CRUNCH. Steve’s heart kicks into his throat and he drops onto his ass, presses back into the corner bringing his arms up to shield his face.

Wobbling precariously on one foot is a red and gold metal figure—Iron Man, he realizes and stares.

“Hey there, sunshine,” Iron Man says, modulated and slurring slightly and Steve’s eyes go wide.

“ _Tony?_ ”

He finally gets both feet on the ground, arms going out to the sides to get his balance. He takes a few clanking steps forward and Steve rises, watching the way the joints move, listening to the whirr of the servos. He’s seen pictures of the Iron Man armor, but seeing it in person—wow.

“You wanna go for a ride?” Tony asks and Steve resists the urge to reach out and put a hand to the metal. The faceplate is intimidating and severe—so unlike Tony.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Steve says.

The faceplate slides back and Steve’s eyebrows go up. That’s pretty cool. “Why not?” Tony whines. His face is flushed and Steve bets he’s been drinking. And flying. Steve’s starting to understand why he’d been rejected from the Avengers.

“Well,” he says, “you appear to be very drunk.”

Tony makes a face, points with one metal finger. “You. Are not wrong.”

Across the street, people have stopped to whisper and stare. “Let’s go inside,” Steve suggests.

“Whatever you want, Picasso.” He clanks inside when Steve opens the door and Steve watches nervously. Hopefully it won’t ding up the floors too much.

He remembers just before he lets Tony into the apartment that Bucky’s still here.

“What the hell?”

“Heyyy, it’s grumpy cat,” Tony says. Steve almost walks straight into the back of the suit when it stops moving and Tony tumbles out the front and staggers into the living room.

Steve holds up his hands when he catches Bucky’s glare. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”

Bucky sighs and then glances at Tony, who’s curling up on their couch and the annoyance melts. “I need to go shopping anyway,” he sighs. He heaves himself up out of the chair and pats Tony’s shoulder as he passes.

Tony lifts his head and squints after him. Then he looks at Steve, a little bleary-eyed. “Did I just chase your roommate out of his own house?”

“Yes,” Steve says, because it’s true. “But he doesn’t mind.” He sits down on the sofa, shifting Tony’s feet into his lap. “You wanna tell me what’s going on? Is it Ty?”

“The world doesn’t revolve around fucking Ty,” Tony snaps and Steve’s eyebrows climb.

“Good, I’d rather not hear about you or anyone else fucking Ty.”

It startles a laugh out of Tony. “God, it would be weird to talk about that if we were fucking, am I right?”

“Well, we’re not…yet,"Steve adds and scratches at the prickle of heat he feels rushing up the back of his neck at his own audacity. "Look,” he goes on, “I’d like to be friends, whatever else we do, or don’t do. If you don’t want to talk about Ty, or whatever’s eating you, then we won’t talk about it. But if you do…” He squeezes Tony’s calf. “I’ll listen.”

“Bye,” Bucky calls as he heads for the door. “Don’t screw on the couch.”

The door slams behind him.

Steve closes his eyes against the blush that floods into his face. Tony laughs.

When Bucky’s gone he twists around a little so he’s laying on his shoulder and can look down the couch at Steve. “Your friends think it’s weird don’t they?”

“Our friends,” Steve corrects.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Don’t deflect, I’m a master deflector. I may be drunk, but I’m still a genius and I know what you’re doing. This. Us. Me, my weird relationship.”

“It’s not weird unless you don’t like it.”

Tony scoffs. “You’re telling me you don’t have a problem with it? It wouldn’t bother you to share?”

Steve takes his time answering. “If it meant I could have you and that was what you wanted? Then I could be happy, too.”

Tony stares at him, his eyes shiny, and licks his lips.

It takes all Steve’s self-control not to lean over and kiss him then and there.

Tony relaxes eventually, interest and something like wonder in his eyes. It dims again as the quiet drags on. “Okay,” Tony says at last, and there’s a challenge coming, Steve can hear it in his voice. “You wanna hear about it?” Steve meets his gaze when he turns to stare him down. “I’ve known Tiberius for as long as I can remember. Our fathers were friends. We grew up together. For a _long_ time, he was my only friend. I started to figure out I wasn’t solely interested in girls when I was fourteen and Tiberius was the first guy I ever experimented with.”

Steve tries to imagine if he’d ever been interested in Bucky, what it would have been like, but he can’t do it. Bucky’s like a brother to him.

“In my twenties, after my bigoted father died, we dated. I met Rhodey at MIT when I was fifteen.” Tony smiles, but there’s a sad, bitter twist to it. “He was the first person who ever looked at me and saw something other than Howard’s son or a rich spoiled brat.”

“Must’ve been hard,” Steve says. Tony glances at him, but doesn’t bother with a reply to that.

“I had to take over Stark Industries and Ty started Viastone. We didn’t have time for each other anymore.” Tony shrugs. “We drifted.” His eyes go distant and Steve wonders what it is he’s remembering. “When he showed up in Monaco… I hadn’t seen him in almost twenty years. I was… A mess. Anyway, I could _talk_ to him and at that point in my life it was a very big deal, I was not communicating well _at all_. And he and Rhodey have been at odds basically from the start and—” Tony sighs, long and deep, digging his fingers into his eye sockets. “Rhodey keeps telling me Ty’s a piece of shit, but that's— I _need_ him. Okay. And I don’t need a lot of things, and if you ever tell anyone that I will throttle you.  But I need Ty, and this morning—”

His voice chokes off, just for a second.

Then he says, low and tired, “This morning when he left, Rhodey gave me an ultimatum. It’s him or Ty.”

Steve stays quiet, gives himself a chance to digest everything that Tony’s just told him. From what he’s seen, he’s inclined to agree with Rhodey, but it sounds like Tony’s history is so wrapped up in Ty, he’s finding it impossible to extricate himself. “I’m sorry,” he says finally. “Fighting with your best friend, that’s…” Unbearable, he knows. “I can’t imagine what it’s like being stuck between him and your best guy, too.”

“It’s a fucking nightmare,” Tony says and rubs at his eyes some more. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any booze around here.”

Steve huffs and pats his knee. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

“You’re the worst,” Tony groans and covers his face with his arms. Then a beat later, voice muffled, “Thanks.”

Rhodey’s been dealing with Tiberius’ seedy underbelly for too long. Maybe it’s time for someone fresh to tap in.

Steve’s willing to be that someone.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warnings: I don’t think there’s any?? steve and tony have a serious talk about lies
> 
> interesting things happened here, i’m a little nervous!

Steve is staring at Tony when he wakes up.

“That’s not at all creepy,” Tony says and blinks at his surroundings. He vaguely remembers Steve guiding him to the bedroom.

Steve blushes. “Sorry. I was drawing, but I got distracted.” He winces as he says it, aware that it doesn’t sound better. There’s a sketchpad in his lap though, so he’s not lying about that.

Tony smirks at him. He’s got a slight headache, but he actually doesn’t feel too bad. “How long was I out?”

“Little over three hours,” Steve says. He’s fiddling with the spiral binding on his sketchbook.

“Sorry,” Tony says curtly. “Probably isn’t how you envisioned your day.”

Steve shrugs. “I was going to the studio to draw. Would have gotten distracted there, too. Kelly writes _really_ good porn.”

Steve’s expression is flawlessly innocent as he says it and Tony laughs.

In return, Steve cracks a smile, but it fades quickly. “Tony, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Tony also vaguely remembers Steve implying they weren’t sleeping together now but could be in the future. Had he imagined that? He rubs his eyes, trying to clear them. “Okay,” he says warily, “what about?”

Steve sighs, his shoulders lifting with it and then rubs at his lower lip with his thumbnail. Then he very deliberately puts his hands down, and leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

Tony goes very still, mind already grasping for the worst case scenario. Steve’s been fucking with him to get to the company; Steve’s after the suit; Steve’s going to kill him. He doesn’t realize he’s started to hyperventilate until Steve’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

“ _Tony!_ ”

He backs off to the edge of the bed, as far away as he can get. There’s nowhere to go. Steve’s between him and the door and there’s no way in hell he’s going out the window, not four stories up. “What do you want?” he demands. “I mean, you’re not gonna get it. I won’t give it to you, whatever it is. But what do you want?”

Steve looks like he’s been struck in the head. “No! Tony, I don’t want anything!”

Tony laughs; its an ugly sound. “Everybody wants something, Steve. Is that even your real name? You’re a spy, like Natasha, aren’t you?”

“No,” Steve says, and then, “yes. My name is Steve,” he adds in a hurry when he sees Tony’s face. “Steven, technically.”

Tony knows the likelihood that what he hears will be the truth is low, but he asks anyway: “Are you after my company?”

Steve seems bewildered by that. “No.”

Weirdly enough, Tony believes him.

“The suit?” He points toward the living room, the last place he remembers seeing it.

Steve shakes his head, frowns. “No. Would it even be any good without you?”

“No,” Tony says, fiercely proud of that.

Steve tries not to smile, and maybe that’s why Tony believes him, he’s hopeless.

His throat still sticks on the next question. “You want to kill me?”

Steve’s eyes go wide, his mouth falling open in a vehement, “ _No!_ ”

And, even weirder, Tony believes that, too.

Then his stomach turns. He looks around Steve’s modest bedroom, thinks of his two roommates. “Money,” he says, low and resigned. “Of course.” He should have known.

“No, _no_ , Tony, I don’t want your money. I don’t care about your money,” he insists.

“You have to!” Tony snarls, and Steve flinches back, big as he is. “You have to! Because if that’s not it, then this makes no fucking sense. Why would you spend all this time with me, lie to me, and not want anything?”

“It’s…” Steve searches for a word, comes up empty, and sighs, “complicated.”

Tony barks out a derisive laugh.  “What are we, teenaged girls? What about Sam? Bucky? Are those real names?”

“Sam, yes,” Steve says. “Bucky’s name is actually James, but I’ve never called him that. Everyone else’s names are real.” He frowns a little. “Well, Natasha and Clint maybe not.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. spies, probably not,” Tony says and Steve’s expression says he can’t argue with that.

“You can look Sam up. Sam Wilson.”

“What about everyone else?” Tony asks. Steve grimaces.

“Ah. Thor. And Bruce, you know him. Jane and Darcy.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “But not you, or Bucky, or Clint, or Natasha?”

Steve grimaces again. “You could probably look up Clint or Natasha. I don’t know how accurate it would be.” He tilts his head, considering. “You might find something. I don’t know if anyone else could.”

“Okay,” Tony says, and he supposes that’s fair. “What about you and Bucky?”

Steve’s expression folds. “I can’t tell you our full names. The ones on our mail are aliases.”

Tony stares at him. “You can’t tell me your full name, but you can tell me that the one I would find if I went snooping is an alias?”

Steve tips his head to the side. “…it’s a gray area.”

“Why?” Tony demands. “And if you tell me it’s for my own safety, I will clock you.”

Steve shakes his head and looks up at Tony from under the fringe over his forehead. “Not yours. Ours.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “For _your_ safety? Are you in the witness protection program?”

Steve’s brow furrows as he thinks. “Not…exactly?”

Now Tony’s the one who’s confused. “Why the hell are you telling me all this? You can’t tell me who you are,  you can’t tell me why not, so why are you?”

Steve looks up at him, earnest and serious. “Because I like you, Tony. Because I don’t want to lie to you, even by omission. If we’re going to be friends, I want you to be able to trust me. To know that when I tell you something, I mean it. And you’re smart. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever known and—” He bites down something there, but Tony doesn’t know what. He smiles wryly at Tony. “I think you can figure it out. If you want. If it’s too much, if you don’t want to deal with solving a puzzle, or someone who can’t just tell you what they mean, I understand. And I won’t contact you anymore. But if you do, I want you to know that everything you think you see, everything that doesn’t fit quite right, it’s real. You should trust your instincts.”

“What if my instincts tell me to stay the hell away from you and call the police?”

Steve doesn’t break eye contact. “Then that’s what you should do.”

“But you’re not going to hurt me? Not going to try and take my stuff? Hurt anybody I love?”

“No,” Steve says firmly. “And if anybody does, they’re going to have to go through me.”

“You realize you sound insane,” Tony tells him. “Certifiable.”

Steve’s mouth twists in a wry smile. “I know. I had to though. You deserve better than lies.”

“What did you lie to me about?” Tony asks. He’s not sure why.

“Job,” Steve says immediately.

“So you’re not with City Emergency Services?”

Steve sighs and scratches at his head, his brow furrowing. “Well. It’s not…wrong?”

“It’s just not the whole picture,” Tony gathers and Steve nods.

“Yes, exactly.”

Tony waits for the rest, but Steve just looks at him until that becomes too uncomfortable, then he shifts, eyes dropping to the floor. “What,” Tony says, “that’s it?”

Steve glances at him and then his lips purse, his forehead creasing slightly and Tony can see him going through it all in his head. After a long minute he says, “Yes. Everything else I’ve told you is true.”

Tony’s not really sure what to do with that. “That’s not even really a lie,” he says, and can hear the confusion in his own voice. “It’s a half-truth. You’re telling me this because of lies of omission?”

Steve searches his face. “Tony, if we keep seeing each other, for any reason, there’s going to be a time that comes when I can’t tell you where I’m going or why. I’ll have to leave in the middle of something or cancel plans or won’t show up at all and I won’t be able to tell you why. I could lie. Or I could not explain at all, but that’s not fair to you. You deserve the truth.”

Tony stares at him. “And you want me to figure it out.”

Steve shrugs helplessly. “I know it’s stupid. I should tell you myself. But it’s not just my ass on the line. If I told you I could get in a lot of trouble. People could get hurt.”

Tony scrubs his face. “But if I figure it out on my own nobody’s culpable.”

“Yes.”

“That’s underhanded of you.”

Steve’s smile is tight. “We don’t always get dealt a fair hand.” He runs a hand through his hair, sighs. “This isn’t how I saw this conversation going.”

Tony raises a brow. “Oh, really how did you see it going?”

Steve’s smile fades. “I didn’t expect you to think the worst.”

Tony bristles. “What I’m smart enough to figure this out, but not that smart?”

“No. I just— I didn’t think you’d been burned that badly.” His expression is sad, and Tony doesn’t know what to say to that. “I’m sorry to put this on you after what happened with Rhodey. I didn’t want it to go like this.” He looks back up at Tony. “What do you want to do now?”

“I want to leave,” Tony says. “I need to…” He’s not sure what he needs. He’d come here expecting some kind of—solace, and gotten this instead. He should have known better. Maybe he does know what he needs. He needs to think. “I’m leaving.”

“Okay,” Steve says and nods. He doesn’t seem happy, but he doesn’t seem surprised or disappointed either. He gets to his feet and leads the way out of the room. “Do you want something to drink before you go? Aspirin?”

“No,” he says automatically and then changes his mind. “Yes. Water. Please.” He feels like his brain has been twisted in knots. He needs some space, some time to figure this out.

Steve nods again and goes to the sink to pour a glass. He’s unusually quiet and Tony hates it. He hates himself more. Steve and his friends were too good to be true, he should have known better.

He drinks the water in under a minute, still watching Steve. When he’s finished he sets it on the counter and wipes his mouth with the inside of his wrist.

He thinks Steve’s unhappiness is genuine, but he’s not sure of anything anymore.

“I’m going to leave now,” he says and then tries to figure out how to say the next part without being too soft and without burning any bridges behind him. “Don’t… I need to… If I find out you tracked me, I will destroy you. Don’t call, don’t text. Just—don’t anything. Got it?”

Steve nods.

Tony nods to himself and then steps into the suit. Maybe it’s time to air out the Malibu place.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warnings: I don’t think there’s any??

Tony takes the suit and leaves for Malibu without a backwards glance. He’s over Colorado before he finally gives in to JARVIS’ pestering and answers one of Pepper’s calls.

“Tony?” she all but yells and he flinches.

“Yeah, hi, Pep, what is it?”

“Tony, where have you been? You were supposed to meet me this morning, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for six hours. Are you okay? JARVIS wouldn’t tell me where you went and he said you were upset—”

“Insubordinate hunk of junk,” Tony mutters and JARVIS remains conspicuously quiet. “It’s whatever,” he directs at Pepper. “It’s done. I need a break, I’m going to Malibu to air out the house.”

“Malibu? But the jet—”

“I didn’t take the jet.”

Pepper’s quiet a beat while she figures it out.

“I’ll telecommute, okay?” he goes on. “I can check in with the LA office, we haven’t been out here in awhile. I’ll be very productive.”

“You took the suit,” Pepper realizes. “Tony—”

“Everything’s fine. Tell you what, I’ll call when I get in. I’m sorry for keeping you out of the loop and for not giving you a heads up.”

“Oh—okay, Tony, but that’s not—”

“Talk to you later,” he presses and JARVIS ends the call. Well, that could have gone worse. “Thanks for nothing you rat,” he says to JARVIS.

“Perhaps if you weren’t being so foolish I would not deem such underhandedness necessary,” JARVIS replies, tone peevish.

Tony, the mature adult that he is, gives him the silent treatment the rest of the way to Malibu.

It doesn’t last any longer than that because he remembers why he hasn’t been back here the minute the lights come up in the living room.

The hole he’d smashed in the floor building for the miniaturized particle accelerator has been patched up, good as new, but the couch is the same. He taps the case of the arc reactor and shrugs off the phantom sensation of paralysis.

“J. Upsie daisy, huh? Let’s go. We’ve got work to do.”

“How may I assist you, sir?” he asks, professional and cool.

Tony ignores the pang it causes. “It’s time we do a background check on my new friends. Steve and I had a little chat today. Apparently he’s been withholding a few things. He claims the only thing he’s bent the truth about is his job title. I want to know if that’s true. I don’t want another Natalie situation and since this involves her we need to scrape the bottom of the barrel. Our usual methods weren’t enough last time.”

“I remember, sir,” JARVIS says darkly. “If there is anything to find, I will find it.”

Tony smiles at his grim determination as he enters the lab. Pissed or not, JARVIS has his back.

“Good,” he says, “let’s get started.”

–

There’s no food in the house, so he ends up ordering sushi for delivery.

To keep Ty off his back, he texts, _Gone to Malibu, back in a few days. No more than a week._

JARVIS gets results on Darcy first, her Facebook, Tumblr, and Instagram profiles right off the bat. There are others—Twitter, Snapchat, and even a MySpace, all considerably less active.

Tony starts poking through them while JARVIS retrieves government records.

The tone definitely has Darcy written all over it and the content fits, too. Lots of selfies with Thor and her Starbucks’ drinks, cat videos, and Vines from some kid named Thomas Sanders.

Steve’s records are the first to show, which is a red flag. There’s a birth certificate, July 4, 1987, a Driver’s license from exactly sixteen years later, a perfect shot record, enlistment papers indicating he was in the ROTC while he was enrolled at Brooklyn College from 2005-2009 where he received his Bachelor’s in Art and a Minor in Creative Writing. It’s the American Dream played out in perfect timing.

“This is a canned identity,” he says.

“It is terribly pristine, isn’t it?” JARVIS muses.

“Okay, well, that fits,” Tony says, leaning back in his chair and spreading his hand to spread out the paperwork in the air in front of him. “He said it was something like the witness protection program. This is definitely a government-manufactured identity.”

“But he indicated it was not the witness protection program?”

“His exact words were ‘not exactly,’ question mark. Like he wasn’t sure.”

“That is curious. This identity is very much like the ones that are produced for members of Witness Protection. Additional records are available now.”

Tony pulls them up. It’s Bucky’s government files and Sam’s. Bucky’s have the exact same manufactured quality as Steve's—according to this they went to the same high and middle schools. Bucky has Army enlistment instead of college though, he was an NCO. Same thing with driver’s license and the medical records—perfect and perfectly timed.

Sam’s files look real. He has a driver’s license, but didn’t get it until he was eighteen. He has a couple of college credits from high school and a couple years at a university before he transitions to the military in November of 2001, where he’d gotten involved in the EXO-7 program. Rhodey had been one of his instructors, so that checks out, and Tony doesn’t realize how invested he is in this until the shuddery sigh of relief that slips out of him when he sees that.

At least _everything_ wasn’t a lie.

Sam’s military career ends four years later, which makes Tony curious. “Gimme Steve and Bucky’s military records again.”

According to those, Steve was entering the ROTC just as Sam was being discharged, and in 2009 he was deployed on active duty for Operation Dragon Strike along with Bucky. Bucky’s records indicate he was honorably discharged just six months later, which Tony guesses is because that’s when he lost his arm. Bucky and Sam’s service records overlap, so it’s possible that’s how they met. He puts them aside to scrutinize in more detail later.

Sam also has a Facebook page that he mostly uses to comment on pictures of his niece and post event notices for events at the VA. He has a gun license and registration papers for a Beretta. he’s CPR certified and First Aid trained and the certification lapsed for a few years after he left the Air Force.

It’s complex and real and, yeah, Steve had said it would be so it could be part of manipulations Tony can’t even begin to work out, but he feels less off balance knowing that.

“Ping me when there’s more to look at, J,” he says and pushes his hair back, spinning around to look at the suit standing in the middle of the workshop. It’s been…God, over a year since the last upgrade. He’d forgotten how good it felt to fly. If Steve and his friends are trying to manipulate him and he catches them, things could get ugly.

There are things he’s learned, features he’s been meaning to try out. Apparently he just needed a kick in the pants to get around to it.

“JARVIS, gimme the Mark IV blueprints.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warnings: I don’t think there’s any??

In the months following Afghanistan, Tony had felt like he’d been reborn. He’d survived and it had all been for a purpose. Because how could he be there, see the things that he had, the things that his own tech had done, and not have been there for a purpose.

And in the midst of the nightmares and his alienation from the few people he was close to, he’d felt driven–alive in a way he hadn’t for years.

It was horrific and hard, knowing that innocent people had suffered, and continued to suffer because of what he’d made, but going out in the suit and putting it right had been vindicating. 

And then he’d found out he was dying.

It was too much, too soon. He’s only just started cleaning up after himself. And when Tiberius had stepped out of the crowd in Monaco after the encounter with Vanko, his long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail and his eyes every bit as blue as Tony remembered, it had been like coming up for air and finding land.

He was able to relink himself with a part of his past that didn’t sting and when Hammer and Vanko had been taken care of, he’d been there waiting.

After, Tony had tried to keep going on missions to seek out his rogue tech, but it was too difficult to balance that with SI and Tiberius and Tiberius was the first good thing to happen to him in years.

He wasn’t about to let anything take it.

Now, with his hands in the holograms again, he remembers why he’d been so passionate about the suit.

It’s everything he’d been trying to do before Afghanistan, but limited to his own hands where it’s safest. It’s flight and fancy and a little bit of badass. All his best ideas combined.

 _Flight_ , for crying out loud. The EXO-7 had been something, but this, the suit, is on a whole other level.

There’s always something to be improved though. Right now, with Steve and his friends having gotten so close, Tony thinks he could use something that will allow him to call the suit, rather than having to carry it. So no matter where he is, the suit can be called, can find him.

He pages through a couple ideas–necklace, phone, implants. The implants get put on a backburner. He likes that idea best, but he logistics will be a bitch and he wants something now.

He ends up deciding on bracelets.

Simple. Classic. Nobody will question it, especially if he models them like those fitness bracelets everyone’s nuts about right now.

He reworks the power routing to give him the ability to fire a concentrated blast from around the arc reactor and adds a few other features he’s been daydreaming about and comes up with a design he’s satisfied with. He’s admiring the wireframe of the new silhouette when JARVIS announces, “Alpha level search complete, sir.”

Tony swipes away the suit. “What’s the date, J?”

“April 15th, sir. You’ve been working approximately thirty-seven hours, slept for six, and have eaten twice.”

Tony snaps his fingers. “That explains why I’m starving. Chinese. You know what I like.”

“Indeed I do.”

“And spread ‘em for me.”

“For you, sir, of course,” JARVIS drawls and Tony grins. The files spread out in the air around him, connected by thin strands of blue light, arranged in clusters based on the person they describe.

Darcy’s cluster is massive. There are dozens of accounts online either in her name or linked to a screenname associated with her name. She’s tried them all. There are even a few crude drawings on a DeviantArt account that’s been dormant for nine years.

All her government paperwork looks legit. Her social accounts link to those of Thor, Jane, and more recently, the accounts of the others, although her influence is most apparent on Bruce’s. Most of what shows up in Jane’s social accounts is obviously put there by Darcy, but there are articles about the latest discoveries in astronomy and physics with comments that can only be from Jane. Tony finds that oddly reassuring.

There’s a funny gap in 2011 in both her and Darcy’s accounts, like some things have been removed. Not long after that Jane’s published work takes on an edited quality that Tony can guess the source of because it’s no long after that that Thor shows up.

His paper trail is hilariously short. There’s a visa that was obviously drafted specifically for him that reads under “Reason for visit:” STRANDED AFTER DESTRUCTION OF RAINBOW BRIDGE.

He’s getting a small salary from SHIELD and has a government issued ID that states he’s 1074. His residence is listed as the SHIELD barracks in New Jersey. “Oh my god, I should have made popcorn.”

Other than that it’s mostly social media activity. Tony wonders what lucky son of a bitch got assigned to monitor his accounts. The best part though, Tony’s favorite thing, is the YouTube clip of the press junket where Thor’s presence and placement with the Avengers had been announced. The uproar is almost as good as the one from his own “I am Iron Man.”

Steve is visible in the background and Tony can’t help but watch him, the way he fights a smile when Thor answers certain questions.

God, Tony wants to believe.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warnings: emotional abuse, abusive relationship

Clint and Natasha are, unsurprisingly, totally shifty looking on paper.

Their documents look as orchestrated as Steve and Bucky’s, although there’s a complete lack of schooling on Clint’s records that’s interesting.

Tony looks up Natalie Rushman, too, just to be safe, but that identity looks like it’s been abandoned wholesale. Tony feels a vindictive little surge of pleasure at the thought that he probably ruined it for her.

There are a lot of gaps in the Natasha and Clint identities that makes Tony think maybe these are the genuine article though. Nothing important or easy to trace is attached to them, and Tony guesses they’ve been scattered among aliases–spies wouldn’t want to keep all their eggs in one basket, which tracks.

They both have a favorite social media account though–well separated from their identities, but not from Darcy. Natasha favors Twitter, where she posts pictures of everything but herself and random silliness that seems totally unlike her spy persona, but 100% like the Nat he’s been spending time with at the bar. Clint has an Instagram where he posts selfies and pictures of other completely random things like the pizza he’s eating at a 60/40 ratio.

With any luck he’ll be able to get his hands on some more of their identities–then he can really figure them out.

For thoroughness’ sake, Tony even has JARVIS run the bar and its staff–it’s possible the place is a SHIELD set up. Extravagant, and unlikely, but possible. SHIELD had courted him, so obviously he’s desirable in some way. Maybe they finally just want to take what it is they’re after and it’s easier if they butter him up.

The bar really is just a bar though. Owned and operated by the three people who live upstairs–but the names on the place are aliases. Tony knows because he’s met the owners and those are not the names they’d been using.

“Well, that’s suspicious.”

“Sir, if I may–I recognize the work on these aliases.”

Tony stares blankly for a minute and then can’t stop himself from looking up at the ceiling. “You what?”

“I recognize this work,” JARVIS repeats. “If I am not wrong–and I do believe I am not–this is the work of Hardison.”

“Hardison,” Tony echoes and that rings a bell, why does that ring a bell? “Wait, you mean the hacker that you have a bot-crush on?”

“It is not a crush,” JARVIS replies. “I simply admire his work. It is very through. The aliases he creates are some of the closest to genuine-appearing I have ever seen. He has tried to hack me on a few occasions and proves a worthy adversary. ”

“So that’s a yes. Who are the other two?”

“My best guess?”

“Hit me.”

“His partners Parker, the world renowned thief, and Eliot Spencer, who is I believe called a ‘hitter’. There are rumors that they operate an underground business called Leverage helping people who have been wronged and have no legal recourse.”

Tony stares at the cluster of information around the three photos. “People who have… So it’s possible they could be helping Steve?”

“I don’t think so, sir. His identity is not Hardison’s work. There is also no indication they are more than acquaintances. You may wish to ask them yourself though. Perhaps they are simply that discreet.”

“Yeah,” Tony murmurs. “Yeah, maybe I will.”

–

So far, everything is as Steve said it would be.

Sam is who he claims to be. Clint, Bucky, and Natasha are obviously shrouded in lies, as is Steve himself, and the others are more or less somewhere in between.

While he works on the suit, Tony tries to put together something that makes sense.

“Okay,” he says aloud to JARVIS, detatching the new gauntlet components from the fabricator. “So we’ve got two spies. Three if you count Bucky, which, yeah, let’s do that, his mess is the most similar to theirs. So three spies. Two Avengers. Three civilians. And Steve.”

He’s quiet for a minute, getting the parts into place and fastening them with screws. Then he sits back on his stool and swipes his wrist across an itch on his nose. “Wouldn’t it be hilarious if they were actually the Avengers? I mean they’ve got secret identities and everything.”

“We have not seen anything to refute the possibility,” JARVIS says, but he sounds dubious and Tony laughs.

“No, that’s insane. There are too many of them. Why would SHIELD do that? I was supposed to be an Avenger, what would that accomplish? And, what, Steve would be Captain America? Hipster, stick-it-to-the-man, artsy Steve? I don’t care if you’re the most incredible spy who ever lived–bullshitting that personality is impossible. It’s impossible!”

Tony realizes what he’s said the moment it leaves his mouth and he licks his lips, drags his soul patch through his teeth.

“Sir…” JARVIS says, and Tony waves him off, hunching over the suit parts again.

“I know. We both know I have a bias. That’s why you’re here, huh?”

“I will not let you down, sir,” JARVIS says. “Not again.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a first time,” Tony says, leaning in and getting back to work. “I was the one who futzes up 'Natalie’. Who are you talking about?”

JARVIS doesn’t reply.

–

“ _Tony! Tony, where are you?_ ” blares suddenly through the speakers of the shop instead of AC/DC and Tony flicks off the welding torch and sits up, adrenaline flooding through his system.

“JARVIS?”

“Mister Stone is here, sir. He’s upstairs, but headed this way. I give you approximately thirty-three seconds before he is on the stairs.”

Tony whips around, shoving the welding torch back onto the cart, and tears off the visor, flinging it across the shop. “Cover sheet, where’s the nearest cover sheet?”

“Portable tool box, bottom drawer,” JARVIS replies instantly and Tony drops to his knees and yanks it open, dragging it out with sharp tugs.

Over the speakers, he hears Tiberius mutter, “ _Who the hell does he think he is, Carmen San Diego? If I wanted to chase someone around the goddamn planet…_ ” Tony scrambles to his feet and throws it over the half-built suit.

Tiberius’ shoes appear on the steps. “ _Flighty son of a bitch, I don’t have time for this bullshit._ ”

Tony lunges and hooks the stool with his foot, shooting across the shop to the nearest workbench. He grabs a screwdriver and the nearest hunk of metal and bends over it, just as Tiberius’ face comes into view. The music switches back on as he keys in his code at the touchpad.

“JARVIS, music,” Ty says and Tony looks up. The music doesn’t budge.

“Hey, honey,” Tony says, getting to his feet. “What are you doing out here? I told you I’d be back before the end of the week.”

Tiberius scowls at the ceiling. “I wish you’d fix your damn voice controls.”

“JARVIS, mute.” The second the words leave Tony’s lips the shop is silent. Tony shoots a glare at the nearest camera. He knows JARVIS does it on purpose, but he’s never told Ty, because, well…

Tiberius sighs, heavy and put upon. “Tony, I know you enjoy these little spontaneous flights of fancy, but really, we’re adults now, you can’t do this. What am I supposed to do when I need you?”

Tony skirts around the workbench, moving to put the screwdriver away. “Oh I don’t know, pick up a phone? Open a computer?”

“Don’t be flip,” Ty snaps and Tony’s shoulders hunch. Tiberius sighs heavily. “Don’t do that. Don’t make me the bad guy.”

Tony rubs the bridge of his nose. Two minutes and he’s already getting a headache. “I just needed a break, Ty. I’m sorry, okay? Rhodey…” He doesn’t want to finish that thought. “Let’s just go home. I don’t want to fight. Please. We can do whatever you want. Just give me a half an hour to pack up.”

Tiberius follows after him and catches Tony by the belt loops, drawing him back around. “Thank you. I’m sorry, too.” He leans in and Tony kisses him, tries to relax. “What are you working on?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing,” Tony says, “just tinkering.” He stares at the cover draped over the half-finished suit over Ty’s shoulder and wonders with a sick, squirming feeling why he feels like he needs to keep it to himself.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYONE THANK trickyarchangel WHO GOT ME UNSTUCK
> 
> sorry this part’s still short. ;p
> 
> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> Warnings: emotional abuse, abusive relationship

Tony almost calls Rhodey a thousand times.

He comes close more than a dozen times just in the few days after Tiberius drags him back to New York, but he never goes through with it. He’s pretty sure Rhodey doesn’t mean what he said, it’s something he does when he gets frustrated, but Tony doesn’t want to find out for sure.

So he can’t talk to Rhodey, he can’t talk to Pepper, and it’s not something he can talk to Ty about, and he just…stews.

“Baby,” Tiberius says, coming up behind him in the lab the evening of the second day, “you’re moping. Is this about Rhodey or something else?”

Ty slides the goggles he hasn’t really been using off his face and runs his fingers through Tony’s hair, his blue eyes sympathetic.

“Yeah,” Tony sighs, because, well, he is. “I just—I miss him, you know?”

“I know,” Ty says and rakes his fingers through the hairs at the back of Tony’s head. It feels good and he closes his eyes. Tiberius kisses his forehead. “I’m sorry we’re not better at getting along.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, and cups one of Ty’s hands, bringing it around so he can kiss the palm.

“Come on. Come upstairs and let me distract you. We’ll order in from your favorite place, have champagne, I’ll give you a massage…”

Tony’s eyebrows go up along with the corners of his mouth. “Are you trying to seduce me, Stone?”

Tiberius grins and leans in so his lips are tantalizingly within reach. “Is it working?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tony murmurs and relishes Ty’s chuckle as he pulls him to his feet.

Tiberius leads him upstairs and herds him into the shower, where he washes Tony from head to toe, pressing warm open-mouthed kisses into his skin while he works. Tony’s not really in the mood for sex, and he seems to get that, his hands gentle and languorous, touching Tony just enough to get him clean.

After, he wraps Tony in a towel and leads him out to the living room where the fireplace is lit and waiting for them. There’s a thick-pile rug and champagne on ice, their food waiting for them under covered plates. There’re even raspberries in the flutes.

Tony laughs. “Are you serious? This is like—cheeseball central.”

“And you love it,” Tiberius says, pressing a kiss to the hinge of his jaw. Tony chases his mouth and the kiss for long minutes, Tony running his fingers through Ty’s hair. Ty’s hands skimming the length of his sides makes the tension melt away.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you. This is—”

Tiberius chuckles into his mouth. “Only the beginning,” he says insistently. “Now lie down.”

Tony grins and gives in. “Oh, sweet Mary mother of god,” he groans a few minutes later when Ty drives hands slick with oil up either side of his spine. “Did I mention I love you? Oh my god.”

Tiberius laughs and hushes him. “Shut up and enjoy it.”

But that’s never gonna happen and they both know it. They end up talking about TV, ranting in consternation about things they’ve only heard about secondhand because neither of them really has time to sit and watch TV.

They talk about business and reminisce about the stupid shit they used to get up to as kids and Tony remembers why it had been so easy to fall in love with Ty in the first place.

They end up falling asleep together on the rug in front of the fire and in the morning, when the sky outside is soft and pink, Tiberius wakes him with a kiss. “Duty calls,” he says. Tony catches him by the back of the neck and kisses him, nudging at the seam of Ty’s mouth with his tongue and grinning when his face wrinkles up.

“Your morning breath is vile,” Ty says.

“So’s yours,” Tony replies, but lets him go. Tiberius presses a kiss to his stomach while Tony cards his fingers through his hair.

It’s a relief, after the rollercoaster the last few weeks have been.

Things stay good, too.  Ty seems to focus more of his attention on Tony, and he’s tender when they’re together, focused on making Tony splinter apart before taking his own pleasure. They have sex six times in a week; it’s almost like they’re going through the Honeymoon period again, wrapped up in each other.

Everything’s perfect, except for the hole where Rhodey should be. Except for his new friends.

Memories of the baseball game keep slipping in unbidden and as great as things are, it’s like now he knows things could be _better_ and the thought won’t leave him alone.

He’s not going to be able to walk away from that.

The face recognition stuff is starting to come in and there’s a pretty steady stream of most of the group, but Steve had shown up in flashes from 2012 forward—but before then? Nothing. It’s the weirdest thing.

Since he’s not making much headway on that front, he decides maybe it’s time to pay a visit to the bar and see what the bartenders are willing to dish.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here

In an effort to avoid running into any of the people he wants to ask about, Tony goes by Spencer’s on a Monday afternoon.

He pauses in the doorway and waits for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior, a baseball cap settled low over his forehead. The blonde is behind the bar and she’s doing something with a screen inset behind the bar, her face lit with a soft blue glow. There are two other people on opposite ends of the room, one with a platter of food and the other with a pint of beer and a book. When Tony’s sure he doesn’t see Steve or his friends, he pulls the cap off and tucks it into the pocket of his jacket and makes his way to the bar.

“Hi,” he says, putting on his most charming smile.

The blonde looks up, face blank for a split second, then a bright smile spreads across her face. “Hey, there. What can I get you?”

Tony leans on the bar, lowers his eyelashes. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

The smile vanishes and her eyes narrow. “Why would you want to do that.”

“Well you’re gorgeous, is that not reason enough?”

She turns her head to the side, still looking at him through narrowed eyes. “Oookay, you’re flirting right now, but why are you flirting? You come in with Steve. You like Steve.”

She’s not talking to him, she’s talking to herself and Tony’s kind of bewildered by her assertion that he likes Steve. Is he that goddamn obvious?

Then her face lights up and she slaps a hand down on the bar between them. “I’m not telling you about Steve. Stay right there.” Then she whirls around, ponytail flying, and flounces into the back.

Tony stares after her. How the hell had she…?

She comes back out towing the long-haired brunette guy by the front of his t-shirt. He’s scowling but coming along easily enough. With a little flourish, she presents him to Tony. “You’re the one askin’ about Steve?” he says.

Tony thinks about lying. In the end he winds up saying, “Um, yes?”

The guy gives him a flat look. “If you wanna know about Steve’s business then you ask Steve about his business.” He waggles a thumb between him and the blonde. “We’re not gonna be the ones who tell you what you wanna know. What I will tell you is that Steve’s a good guy. Okay?”

Before Tony can open his mouth, he says, “Now wait here one minute.”

He disappears into the swinging doors and the blonde leans both elbows on the bar and smiles at Tony. “You like pretzels,” she says, like that means something, and Tony stares at her.

“You’re a strange woman.”

She straightens back up and grins. “Yeah, I kinda am. That’s what makes me so great!”

Tony huffs. She’s not wrong.

The guy comes back out then, carrying a paper takeout bag. He holds it out to Tony, who says, “I didn’t order anything.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says impatiently and presses it forward until Tony’s forced to accept it. “These are his favorites. Now go. See you Thursday.”

“I don’t think–”

“Bye!” The blonde says cheerfully and hops right over the bar so she can shove him straight out the door.

Tony stands on the street outside for five minutes trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

–

Steve can’t keep his hands off his phone over the next week.

He’s desperately hoping Tony will text him, and when that hasn’t happened by Wednesday he ends up hanging his last thread of hope on the idea that Tony will show up Thursday night at the bar.

He shouldn’t, he knows he doesn’t have any right to after the way things have been, but he hopes anyway.

He’s disappointed when Tony hasn’t made contact by dinnertime on Thursday. It must show on his face because Sam squeezes his shoulder and says, “You did the best you could, man. If he doesn’t want to forgive you there’s not much you can do about it.”

“I know,” Steve says, but that just makes him feel more wretched. If it weren’t for SHIELD wanting their identities kept secret he wouldn’t have had to have done this in the first place. He ruined the first spark he’s felt since the forties and knowing that it helps keep them safe doesn’t make him feel better at all. Tony manages just fine with a public identity.

“There are other people out there,” Sam reminds him gently. “Let’s go out. See if we can meet a few.”

“Sure,” Steve agrees, but it sounds hollow even to his own ears.

The bar’s starting to pick up steam when they get there, but their table’s been reserved and Steve checks his phone, looks around, still hoping for a last minute appearance from Tony, but all he gets is the sinking feeling of disappointment.

He’s struggling not to slide into a serious sulk when Eliot calls, “Hey, Steve, man, over here. A word.”

Steve follows him around to the corner at the back of the bar.

“Thar guy you brought in here, Stark? He was in here Monday askin’ about you.”

Steve’s eyes go wide.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Eliot hurries to assure him. “I told him if he wanted to know about you he should ask.”

“What did he want to know?” Steve says, probably a little too quickly.

“I didn’t let him get that far.”

“Oh,” Steve says and hears the disappointment in his own voice. It doesn’t really matter. Tony’s asking questions of the people he knows Steve is familiar with and being careful not to involve him, he’s obviously got doubts about what Steve said.

“I’m sorry, man,” Eliot starts, but Steve waves him off.

“It’s okay. I kind of blew it. I messed up. If he comes asking again you can answer his questions.” Then he remembers who he’s talking to and that Natasha’s pretty sure they’re running a dubiously-legal business out of the bar and adds, “As long as it’s not stuff you shouldn’t know.”

“You got it,” Eliot says. “I could tell you liked him. I hope it works out for you.”

Steve smiles wanly. “Thanks.”

He hopes so, too, but he’s not holding his breath.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> thank you to trickyarchangel who got me un-uninspired (again) and those of you who volunteered bad day ideas!! i’d say thank you to onemuseleft, but this fic is for her so that’s probably thanks enough ;P
> 
> warning: joking mention of a suicide pact, reference to past trauma (the arc reactor)

Results from the facial recognition search have started to trickle in and a very strange pattern is emerging.

Thor doesn’t show up in any results prior to 2011—that makes sense. Bruce, Clint, Natasha, Sam, Jane, and Darcy all show up here and there between the time of their births, barring a few years in the late 2000s where Bruce doesn’t show up and the careful distribution of suspiciously staged-looking images of Clint and Natasha. But those things make sense, too.

What doesn’t is how Steve and Bucky, like Thor, don’t appear until after 2011. Steve first, in the background of a tourist photo from Times Square on Flickr in 2012. He’s wearing khakis and a white t-shirt and an expression of total disorientation tinged with fear that breaks Tony’s heart. What the hell had been going on there?

He briefly entertains the idea of Steve being Asgardian (it would explain the big and blond and how he knows Thor), but that doesn’t make sense, why would he be secret but not Thor?

Bucky doesn’t show up until 2014 in a photo on Darcy’s Instagram. He’s not even in the foreground, he’s sitting in an armchair—the armchair in Steve’s current living room to be exact—wearing sweats, long, greasy hair, and a bleak expression. Steve and Sam are in the foreground sitting on the floor around the coffee table with a board game spread out over it.

After that the two of them show up more frequently, both in the backgrounds of the occasional tourist photos and (mostly) in pictures posted in their social media accounts and Darcy’s, then later trickling into the others’. Bucky looks increasingly better over time, so maybe he’s missing because of his service?

But that still doesn’t explain Steve’s lack of pictures.

“There should be digitized school photos, or a yearbook, a couple more tourist shots, something, right, J?”

“It does seem strange that there are no photos to be found. Miss Romanova was in the Red Room as a child and still there is a photo of her as a girl before she learned to elude the cameras of strangers so deftly.”

“Right? It’s weird. How does that even happen?”

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” JARVIS admits.

Tony hums thoughtfully and sets the thought aside to run in the background for awhile.

–

The next day goes to hell in an Indy 500 race car.

Tony looses track of time and winds up staying in the shop all night in an engineering haze. As a result, he’s started to lose coherency around the time he’s supposed to be getting ready for a meeting of department chairs. He fumbles while making a cup of caffeine in an attempt to fix that and spills fresh black coffee all over himself and scalds the hell out of one hand. He grabs a spare shirt so he can change in the car and winds up getting coffee all over that too.

He’s late for the meeting.

Then he finds out it’s _not_ the meeting of department heads, it’s the meeting with the government reps about the contract for clean energy—which he’s completely forgotten about. He’s wildly under-prepared.

“Fuck,” he mutters when it’s over, collapsing into a chair. “You think they’ll give us a second chance?”

Pepper sighs. “No.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony grinds out.

Two hours later he’s on the phone trying to make it happen anyway when Pepper comes through the door, heels clicking sharply on the tile. Her face is white. She drops a newspaper onto his desk.

When he sees what’s on the front page, he says, “I’m gonna have to call you back,” and hangs up on the person he’s been trying to sweet talk for the better part of those two hours. He picks up the paper, sinks into his chair. “How did this happen?”

Pepper shakes her head, her mouth pulled into a thin slash. “I don’t know. Then she waves her hands. "We have a mole. It’s the only explanation. There are—only a dozen people who knew about this, what else could it be?”

“What are we going to do?” A needle point of pain is starting behind his right eye. Fuck. Why is he so godawful at choosing people to trust?

“We’ll have to kill the line,” Pepper says. “People will think we’re the copycats. It will only make us look petty if we try to wave the patents at them. The line isn’t worth enough to take the PR hit.”

Tony groans and buries his head between his arms. “Kill me now.”

“Only if we’re making a suicide pact,” she replies grimly.

They spend the rest of the afternoon dealing with the fallout of that little discovery. By mid-afternoon the pinprick has become a railroad spike and Tony’s taken more than the recommended dosage of a couple different drugs to no avail. Night is starting to fall when someone knocks timidly at Pepper’s door. He and Pepper look up, blinking blearily at one another, and he can see his exhaustion echoed back on her face.

“My assistant went home,” she says, part realization, part explanation. She covers her eyes for a moment and blinks widely, then turns around and calls, “Come in.”

An employee, someone Tony recognizes, but can’t remember the name of, pokes his head in, licking his lips as his eyes dart around the office. “Ah, excuse me, Miss Potts, is Mister—” He sees Tony and stops, gnawing at his lower lip.

Pepper tips her head. “Mister Baxter.”

“Yeah, what is it?” Tony sighs. “Please not more bad news.”

There’s a pregnant pause and Tony scrubs his hands over his face, waves the guy in. “Come on, don’t listen to me, what’s going on?”

Baxter shuffles in a little further, twisting his fingers together, but he doesn’t get anywhere near the desk.  “I’m sorry—I’m sorry to add to your plate, sir, but I thought… I thought you should know.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

Baxter licks his lips again, twists his fingers until the tips go white. He takes a deep breath and then says in a rush, “Someone’s been asking about the arc reactor, sir.”

Tony stills. “Oh?” he says, going for light. He can feel Pepper’s eyes on him. He waves at the light in his chest. “It is kind of shiny, people do tend to talk.”

Baxter nods, a few too many times. “I know. I know, sir. You’re right. They do. But, um, this, these people, they were asking—” He swallows thickly. “They were asking how you take it out, sir.”

Tony goes cold all over, his fingers tightening around the pen in his hand. For a second he’s totally frozen. But Pepper’s eyes are on him, he can feel the weight of her gaze still and he forces himself to twiddle the pen back and forth between his fingers, to smile. “Oh. Well, okay then. Thanks. I’ll look into that.”

Baxter seems confused by his nonchalance, but he nods and haltingly retreats, slinking out of the office almost silently.

Pepper’s still looking at him, eyes wide and worried.

Tony ignores the way his stomach feels like it’s made out of ice, looks around at the papers spread out all over the desk. He looks up at Pepper when he’s sure he can keep his expression steady. “Where were we?”


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> warning: past trauma, possibly emotional abuse?? i’m not sure in this bit, better safe than sorry ;p

By the time they call it quits and go home, Tony’s had more than enough time to come to the worst possible conclusion.

Steve _was_ lying.

Natasha was lying. They were all lying. They’re after the arc reactor. Steve got close to him to get close to the reactor and he is the biggest _idiot_ on the planet.

He’s too jittery to sleep, so he goes to the shop to try and work himself to exhaustion. There’s a screwdriver he’s had since MIT, he doesn’t even know why, but he has it and the handle cracks in his grip just a few minutes after he starts working, splintering away from the shaft.

Tony stares at it for a long moment, stunned. God knows why, it’s almost forty years old it couldn’t last forever, could it, why he’s even been using it is a mystery, but now it’s broken and he won’t be using it anymore and Tony stares at it and his breathing starts to hitch.

It takes everything he’s got left to keep himself from bawling like a toddler having a tantrum over the goddamn screwdriver.

He’s hunched over the remains, breathing ragged and too heavy when Tiberius calls from the other side of the shop, “Tony?”

Tony looks back, but he can’t make himself turn all the way. His eyes are wet, he knows they are and he can’t bring himself to look directly at Ty.  “Hey,” he croaks.

“Baby, what are you doing?” he asks.

Try as he might to suppress it, Tony can't—he sniffles. God, Ty’s going to think he’s pathetic. He is pathetic.

“Baby?” Ty repeats, concern thickening in his voice. “What? What is it? Are you crying? Don’t cry.”

“I’m not—” Tony rolls his head back on his shoulders, blinking back the moisture in his eyes—fine, maybe he is.

Tiberius cups his face in his hands, makes him turn his head. “What happened, baby? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It was just…” Tony rubs at the prickling corners of his eyes and they come away wet. Jesus, he’s a child. “Today was the shittiest fucking day, Ty.”

Tiberius makes a sympathetic noise, fingers carding through his hair and he draws Tony forward until his forehead is resting on Ty’s chest. Concealed, Tony lets out one short sob.

“Shh,” Tiberius says. “Come on, let’s go to bed. You can’t get any work done like this.”

Tony lets him pull him to his feet because he’s too tired. He doesn’t want to do this anymore, deal with all the betrayals, his own destructiveness.

Tiberius leads him out of the shop and Tony lets the screwdriver fall from his hand, skittering off into a corner.

Upstairs, Tiberius undresses him, kissing him lightly between garments, on his forehead, the tip of his nose. It’s ridiculous and sappy and Tony, miserable as he is, eats it up. They curl up in bed together, Ty’s fingers drawing lines down his sides until Tony falls asleep.

It takes a long time.

–

Tony can’t move.

He’s in Spencer’s, sitting in the booth at the back where he can see the whole room. Eliot’s behind the bar wiping down glasses with a dark sort of smirk that makes Tony’s skin crawl.

He can’t move, but he starts when Steve sits down next to him. “Hi, Tony,” he says and runs a finger around the case of the arc reactor. Tony shudders, starts to hyperventilate. Steve smiles. “Does this seem kinda familiar?”

For a moment, it’s Obie smiling down at him.

 _No_ , Tony begs.

Natasha slides onto the table in front of him. “I’m a spy, did you really think I’d tell you the truth?”

Tony wants to scream, but he can barely move enough to breathe.

Steve leans close, his eyelashes dipping low, seductive. “Nobody wants you, Tony. Just this.”

And he twists the arc reactor.

Tony wakes up screaming, thrashing against the hands he can feel on his arms. He throws them off, tumbles off the bed and lands hard on his knees with a jolt that he feels all the way up his thighs.

“Tony,” he hears, Ty say, aghast, and chokes as he tries to get his breathing under control.

He’s soaked with sweat, breathing heavily through a raw throat. “Sorry,” he croaks. “Sorry, sorry.”

Tony can still feel the arc reactor lifting out of his chest and he presses a hand over it to be sure it’s still there.

“Jesus, Tony,” Ty breathes and shame washes down Tony’s back. Ty gets up and starts toward him and Tony holds his hands out.

“No, don't—don’t touch me. Just gimme a minute.”

To his relief, Ty does as he’s asked, pulling his silk robe on over his boxers. He leaves the bedroom and Tony deflates, letting his head fall forward against the side of the mattress.

The headache is still there and he feels shaky and keyed up. His lip trembles, but he refuses to let it get any further than that. He knows what he’s up against, it won’t be like it was with Obie. Tomorrow he’ll even tell Pepper.

She was there during Obie and the palladium poisoning and his slight mental break, she won’t let him down this time just because he’s being difficult again. He can’t trust a lot of things, but he can trust that.

That helps, and he looks up at the sound of footsteps. “Sorry,” he tells Ty again.

“Well, it’s been awhile and you had a shitty day,” he says with a shrug. “Here.” He holds out a glass.

Tony takes it and discreetly takes a sniff of what’s inside—scotch. He tosses back half the glass. Tiberius takes it and drinks some of what’s left before passing it back. “Finish it,” he says, nudging it toward Tony’s mouth. “It’ll help.”

So Tony drinks.

A little while later, when the booze has started to kick in and he’s listing against Tiberius’ side, Ty says, “So what happened today anyway?”

“Somebody’s trading SI stuff to other companies.”

“Well, fuck,” Ty says. “No wonder you’re a wreck.”

Tony laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Wasn’t enough apparently. Someone’s asking questions about how to get the arc reactor. This arc reactor,” he says, tapping his chest.

“Christ.”

“Probably gonna be kinda jumpy till I get that sorted out,” he sighs.

“I’ll be here,” Ty says, slipping an arm around Tony’s shoulder and pulling him close. He presses a kiss to Tony’s forehead. “I protect what’s mine. You want some of my guys to keep an eye on you?”

Tony sighs. “Yeah, that might—that’s probably a good idea. Maybe I’ll ask Happy to come back as my bodyguard for a while.”

Ty scoffs. “Don’t be silly. He has a job. Just take my guys. Don’t you trust my judgment?” he jokes.

“Yeah,” Tony says, leaning into Ty’s body, “sure I do. ‘Course.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> warning: past trauma, possibly emotional abuse?? i’m not sure in this bit, better safe than sorry ;p
> 
> pretend i never tried to introduce plotty things and that this makes sense. blerghhhh here is where i remind you that this is a draft. please just pretend it’s not as stupid as it is. *waves jedi hands* (is that a thing?)

Tony wakes up the next morning feeling like crap.

He feels less like crap when Tiberius lingers instead of rushing off to work and helps him get through his morning routine without spilling coffee on himself or choosing a jacket that doesn’t match or stabbing himself in the eye with a butter knife.

They’re halfway through breakfast, Ty’s fingers drawing circles on his knee when JARVIS says, “Sir, Miss Potts is on the line.”

Tony’s whole body clenches in trepidation and Ty lays his hand flat, covering his knee with reassuring heat. “Okay, put her through,” he makes himself say.

The first thing he hears is a tremendous sigh from Pepper. “Tony, it was a false alarm.”

Tony blinks. “What? It was? What was?”

She sighs again and he can just see her digging the tips of her fingers into the corners of her eyes. “The whole–corporate espionage thing. I went to Oscorp to look at the technology first thing this morning–it’s nothing like what we’re working on, except in the most basic functions. It was pure speculation on the part of the paper. God, I should have known better it was from the Daily Bugle.”

“It was Jameson’s paper? Jesus Christ,” Tony says. “If I’d known that–”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Pepper sighs, but now she sounds amused, “you were a wreck yesterday though, so it’s no wonder you didn’t notice.”

“Thank God we didn’t go to the board,” Tony says, almost dizzy with the relief.

“Crisis averted,” Pepper says. “Anyway, I just wanted to call and let you know, I knew you’d be stressed about it. I’ve had Happy go to speak with Baxter about what he said last night. Are you coming from Mr. Stone’s today?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m– We’re having breakfast.”

“I’ll send security to pick you up.”

“I’ve already arranged to have my security team escort him, Pepper,” Tiberius says and there’s a brief pause on the line.

“That’s very sweet, Mr. Stone,” she says finally, “but won’t look good I’m afraid. It’s not a good idea for Tony to be seen with a security team not employed by Stark Industries. I’m sure you understand.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pep. Everyone knows we’re dating, it’s not like using Hammer’s guys or something.”

“Tony…”

“She’s right,” Tiberius says and Tony raises an eyebrow. Ty shrugs. “People will talk if my security team is shuffling you around all day. It’s silly to send a team here though, my team can take him from here to the Tower at least, that’s just good manners.”

“Yes, that will be fine,” Pepper agrees. “What time should I expect you, Tony?”

He glances at his watch. “In twenty?”

“Excellent. See you then.”

Tony stares at Tiberius until he says, “What? Is there egg on my face?”

“No. Just—thanks,” Tony says, still kind of taken aback. “For being nice. To Pepper,” he clarifies.

Tiberius just shrugs. He leans in to kiss Tony goodbye, and they spend a few minutes that way, exchanging soft, wet kisses, Tony’s fingers tracing over the rough stubble on Ty’s jaw until they tingle. “I’ll call you at lunch,” he says finally, and Tony nods. They leave together and Tony feels silly when two of Tiberius’ security guys flank him to the car waiting at the curb, but he feels a little better, too.

The day ends up being crazy, since they have to undo everything they set in motion yesterday. It’s easier not to think about the thing with the arc reactor in the Tower with Pepper sitting across from him at her desk. No way somebody can get to him here, with her and JARVIS standing between them.

Five o'clock is closing in when there’s a knock at the door. Before either of them can answer, Happy pushes inside wearing a black expression and muttering profanity under his breath.

Tony’s eyebrows go up. “Uh, hey, Hap. What’s going on? Problem?”

“Damn right there’s a problem,” he says heatedly and then sees Pepper and blushes and backpedals. “Sorry. Baxter makes one shit witness is all. Spent most of the morning talking to him trying to figure out who he talked to. Finally ‘round four he remembered he talked to the guy once on the phone.”

“Guy?” Tony echoes. “I thought he said ‘people’. I distinctly remember it being plural.”

Happy’s scowl deepens. “Yeah, turns out Baxter’s a little absent-minded. He spoke to one guy a couple times on the phone, got ambushed one night outside the building. We tracked down the message on the servers. Guy who’s been asking? A goddamn intern at NY Mag, although not for long after the ass-reaming I just gave the editor. Thought he was gonna get a scoop or something, I guess.”

“An intern,” Tony repeats.

“Yeah,” Happy sighs irritably. “Guess he did his thesis on you or whatever. Big fan. Big idiot if you ask me.”

“How the hell did he know about the arc reactor?” Tony asks. It earns him an exasperated look from Happy.

“Boss, you and Mr. Stone have spent days at the beach two summers in a row now. You weren’t wearin’ a shirt. All the upper level employees know about it. They may not know exactly what it does, but they know it’s there. Kid didn’t know what it was called, that was all Baxter.”

“Do you have a picture?” Tony demands and Happy nods, slouches over and offers him the screen of his phone. The picture’s of a kid no older than twenty-five, painfully hipster with big glasses and a giant curl of hair on his forehead. “You’re sure?” Tony demands.

“Yeah, boss,” Happy assures him.

Tony slumps back in his chair, wipes a hand over his face. “Unbelievable.”

“I’m real sorry about this, boss.”

Tony looks at him incredulously. “Happy. Come on. This was not your fault.”

Happy shakes his head. “I shoulda done better. I’m gonna, I swear.”

“I need to call Rhodey,” Pepper says and Tony turns to gape at her.

“You told Rhodey?!”

Pepper gives him a look like he’s one electron short of an ion. “Of course I told Rhodey, someone was asking about the arc reactor, Tony.” She stares at him. “Did you _not?_ ”

Tony squirms. “Rhodey… He’s… We’re not exactly…speaking.”

Pepper stares at him harder. “And you thought Rhodey wouldn’t want to talk to you about this because he’s _mad_ at you?”

Tony squirms harder.

“And he didn’t call you. Ugh,” Pepper says, rubbing her temples. “You two. I honestly. I just don’t even know what to do with you. JARVIS, put Rhodey on speaker.”

“Pepper?” he demands, the minute he picks up. “What happened? Is he hurt? Where are you?”

“Everything’s fine,” Pepper tells him.

Tony has to swallow a few times before he can make his throat work. “Slept like shit last night, but otherwise I’m fine.”

“Tony!” Rhodey splutters and Pepper rolls her eyes. “You are? You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Tony sighs. “Turns out it was some kid from a magazine.”

“ _What?_ Who authorized that?”

“Apparently he did.”

“Of all the stupid fucking—”

“Rhodey, where are you?” Pepper asks.

There’s a guilty silence and then Rhodey admits, “I was getting ready to commandeer a chopper when you called.”

Tony brings a fist up to hide his grin, warmth flushing through him. “Aw, you were worried.”

“Damn right I was,” Rhodey snaps. “I’m gonna get ulcers because of you.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, voice going a little soft. “I appreciate that you were gonna ride in here all gung-ho cowboy to save me.”

“Damn right,” Rhodey grumbles again. “I can still get the chopper, you want me to come?”

Tony shakes his head. “No, I just want to go and get some sleep,” he says. “I’m exhausted.”

Pepper pats his hand.

“Okay,” Rhodey says, reluctantly. “Well, if you change your mind.”

“I’ll give you a call,” Tony assures him and that seems to be what Rhodey needs to hear.

“I’ll talk to you later,” he says, like it’s a threat. Tony slumps over the desk when he hangs up.

“Do over. I want a do over on this week,” he groans.

“Sorry, that’s not a thing,” Pepper says and pats his shoulder this time. “But you should go home. We’ve done enough here for now, dealt with the worst of it. Go get some rest.”

“I love you, Potts,” he sighs and she looks away, blushes. Tony wonders sometimes if it hadn’t been for Ty, if there would have been something between them.

“Go,” she says sternly, and Happy helps him out of the chair. Tony cuts her a lazy salute.

“Mean it, Potts,” he calls from the door, “you’re the greatest.”

She smiles at him, soft, safe with the distance between them and says, “I love you, too. Now shoo.”

He smiles the whole way home.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT’S BACK BITCHES
> 
> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> warning: mentions of past trauma
> 
> last time on tiberius it was all a very bad dream (you might enjoy what comes next more if you don’t reread, just trust me)
> 
> no, but seriously, so i got some space and reread everything and you guys were right it was totally coming to a head, but OOPS, i didn’t accomplish like 70% of what I wanted to so you guys are gonna get the fun draft version where it weirdly back tracks to the falling in love montage! roll with it. i’ll fix it in post
> 
> p.s. sorry for posting this after you went to sleep onemuseleft ilu

Then one afternoon Tony’s coming out of a restaurant in East Midtown and Sam walks past on the sidewalk. Tony immediately feels a bloom of happiness, and before he can think better of it, calls, “Hey, Sam!”  
  
Sam turns back, puzzled at first, then his eyes widen a fraction in surprise. He ends up extending his hand with a wary sort of smile. “Tony! Hey, man, it’s good to see you.”  
  
“Really?” Tony replies. “Because you don’t look happy to see me.”  
  
That makes Sam duck his head, embarrassed. “No, that’s–not at all. I’m just not sure how to play this. Steve said he told you he was playing a few things close to the chest and we shouldn’t expect to see you around anymore. He didn’t think you took it so well. So I’m just surprised is all. It is good to see you. We’ve missed you the last couple of Thursdays.”  
  
Tony’s surprised to hear that. So Steve was forthcoming about it with his friends too. Interesting. “He was very cryptic,” he says.  
  
Sam smiles wryly and nods. “Yeah, that sounds like him. He’ll lie if he think he needs to, but he doesn’t much like it.”  
  
“Is it true?” Tony asks, watching his expression carefully. “That whatever he’s hiding has nothing to do with me? It’s to protect himself?”  
  
Sam seems startled by the question. But he doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Yes. I wouldn’t say it has nothing to do with you–it’s partly to protect himself from you.”  
  
“Pardon? From me?”  
  
Sam shrugs, somewhat apologetically. “Yeah, man.”  
  
Tony…honestly has no idea what to do with that. So he shakes it off. “Thanks.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “You need a ride? Where are you going?”  
  
“Back to the VA,” Sam says, gesturing the way he’d been headed. He glances at his watch. “Actually, yeah, if you don’t mind?”  
  
Tony grins and pulls open the door for him. “I did offer.”  
  
–

Tony decides the risk to reward ratio is worth it.  
  
He doesn’t know what exactly Steve’s secret is–yet–but he’s pretty sure it falls on the “won’t hurt him” side of the spectrum. Rhodey had accepted them willingly enough despite being a complete ass about Tiberius and they hadn’t exactly been welcoming.  
  
So Thursday at six thirty, he heads to the bar in Brooklyn.  
  
Things are starting to pick up when he gets there. Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Bucky, and Darcy are at the usual table.  
  
Tony hesitates just inside the door. What if he’s wrong? What if they do mean to hurt him?  
  
That, of course, is when Steve looks over and spots him.  
  
Steve tries to stifle it, but relief and bright, beaming joy spreads over his face and Tony knows he’s done for.  
  
Well, at least the view will be good if this is the thing that does him in.  
  
Tony smiles back and lifts two fingers in sort of a half-hearted wave and then he makes his way through the crowd to the table.  
  
He stops at the end, glancing at the others, but ends up looking at Steve again. “Hi,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets and feels the new bracelets, the metal smooth against the insides of his wrists. Right, he’s got a back up plan. He rocks onto the balls of his feet, smile stretching wider. “You got room for one more?”  
  
Steve is still looking up at him with something like amazement. “Yeah, absolutely.”  
  
“Welcome back,” Natasha says and pats the seat next to her. “Sit down, have a drink.”  
  
“Don’t mind if I do,” Tony says and slides into it.  
  
Tony’s amazed by how easily he slips back into the fold. It’s like he was never gone.  
  
He splutters on ginger beer—house made, it’s not even alcoholic—and sets his mug down with a bang. “What the hell do you mean you haven seen _2001: A Space Odyssey_? It’s a classic!”  
  
Steve sighs and slouches back in his seat. “Oh, here we go again.”  
  
“Again?” Tony demands and sees Natasha shoot an amused smile in Steve’s direction. “Excuse me, I think I’d remember if we went over the fact that you’ve never seen _Space Odyssey_.”  
  
Steve huffs. “No, not that specifically. I’ve just—had this conversation a lot.”  
  
“Well you haven’t seen _Space Odyssey_. Of course you have, heathen.”  
  
“With Darcy it was _Indiana Jones_ , with Sam it was _Blade_ , Clint lost it when I said I hadn’t seen _Star Wars_ —”  
  
Tony splutters again. “You haven’t seen _Star Wars?_ Have you been living under a rock?? No, wait, I’ve been to your house, there’s no rock.”  
  
Steve sighs again, letting his head roll forward. “I just don’t see why everybody gets on me about it when Thor and Buck are just as bad.”  
  
“It’s because he’s terrifying,” Tony says, gesturing at Bucky who helpfully turns and glowers at him. “See?”  
  
“I have seen _Star Wars_ ,” Thor adds and Steve glares at him.   
  
“Traitor.”  
  
A straw wrapper bounces off Thor’s forehead and he grins.  
  
“Unbelievable,” Tony says. “Hasn’t seen _Space Odessy_ or _Star Wars_. What is the world coming to?”  
  
“Pure anarchy,” Natasha says drolly.  
  
“Damn right.”  
  
“I regret ever introducing you,” Steve says, but he can’t stop smiling.   
  
“Technically you didn’t,” Tony points out and takes another sip of his ginger beer. “One day you’re coming over and we’re watching those. Space marathon.”  
  
“If I gotta,” Steve sighs and Tony shoves him. Steve grins.

“You and Natasha met before?” he says, looking between them.

“Technically she saved my life,” Tony says, leaving that wide open for Natasha to deal with.

Her eyebrows go up. “Wow, you’re admitting to that now, huh?”

“I’ve grown as a person,” Tony says primly, smoothing a hand down his chest.

Natasha suppresses a smile. She leans into Steve’s shoulder. “I was assigned to go undercover at Stark Industries a few years back and Tony was in a bit of a downward spiral.”

“I was dying of heavy metal poisoning, I think a little spiraling is normal,” Tony puts in, lest Steve think he’s just prone to spiraling wildly out of control for no particular reason.

Natasha nods. “I’ll give you that.”

Steve is staring at him, wide-eyed. “You were dying?”

Tony wrinkles his nose and taps at the arc reactor. “Yeah, turns out putting heavy metals into your body doesn’t work out so well?”

“Anyway,” Natasha cuts in. “I was assigned to keep an eye on him because what with the whole ‘Iron Man’ thing, he was causing a lot of trouble for S.H.I.E.L.D.  He’s still bitter he didn’t recognize I was a secret agent.”

“I’m always bitter,” Tony says. “Like coffee.”

“No, that doesn’t track,” Steve says. “You’ve been nothing but sweet since I met you.”

Tony blinks, startled, and feels a blush race over his face.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Natasha says, grinning broadly.

“Well, it’s true,” Steve murmurs, eyes fixed on Tony’s and the blush only grows hotter.

Yeah, he’s totally doomed.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: mentions of past trauma, emotional abuse, gaslighting, intimidation, ableism (probably), 
> 
> last time on tiberius things still made sense. NO MORE. literally i am at the point in the process where I just write random things and hope eventually i’ll be able to stitch something together that makes sense. so please don’t read this expecting any coherency whatsoever. I TRIED TO DO THE WRITING IT CHRONOLOGICALLY THING. it didn’t work out

“Okay, so here’s a question,” Tony says. “Do you even _want_ a better hearing aid?”

Clint stares at him.

Shit, not a good question apparently.

Words start spewing out of Tony’s mouth without his consent. “I’m not being a dick! Not on purpose anyway. A lot of people have told me I need to get my head on straight, that I should figure out my life, that what I need is sedation and a day planner, and I’m sure day planners work for some people, but what works for me is Pepper and having an atypical schedule and I don’t want to fix your hearing aid if that’s not actually what will help you, because people like to demand conformity to the detriment of proficiency, which is stupid because everyone has their way and what I’m saying is I don’t want to get in the way of your way–I’m digging this hole to China if you don’t stop me,” he says and Bucky graciously puts a hand over his mouth.

“Nobody’s ever asked me that,” Clint says and his not-making-any-face looks exactly like anyone else’s murder-face and Tony swallows because he has no idea what he’s thinking. “When it happened the docs were all, ‘we’ll get you a hearing aid’, ‘we can do surgery’, ‘you should learn to lip read, even though it’s difficult and not a reliable way to communicate’. The aid’s useful, but it can be a pain in the ass, too.”

Tony relaxes, his confidence surging back. “What about you?” he asks Bucky.

Bucky shrugs and looks away, a lock of hair falling to obscure his eyes. “Like havin’ an arm. But. Didn’t– I didn’t get to choose. Any of it.” The words don’t seem to be coming easily and he starts to look frustrated. Clint shifts closer, bracing his shoulder against Bucky’s and the frustration eases back. “Can’t. Tell him.”

Clint nods. “Sure.” He meets Tony’s gaze and says, matter-of-fact, “Bucky was a POW. He lost his arm in combat, got experimented on. The arm’s not your regular prosthetic.”

“It’s experimental tech,” Tony surmises.

“Yeah. Military’s looked at it, and they have no idea what to do with it.”

Tony’s eyebrows go up. “And yet you walk among us. You must have some important friends.”

“Something like that,” Bucky says.

“You want to make it yours,” Tony concludes and Bucky seems surprised. Guess it’s sharing time then.

Tony hikes up his shirt, holding it with his thumbs so the arc reactor’s visible. “This is what happened in Afghanistan during my three month vacation in 2008. Convoy was attacked to kidnap me, got hit by shrapnel and it was creeping toward my heart. Guy named Yinsen stuck an electromagnet powered by a car battery four inches into my chest to stop it.” He taps the glass. “This is what I made. So. I get it. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.” He points at his own chest, then at Bucky’s arm, still obscured by the hoodie he’s perpetually wearing. “I figured this out, I can figure that out.”

Tony had blocked off two hours to talk to them, but ends up with them for four and doesn’t even get around to taking a look at Bucky’s arm.

“Next week,” he calls as Pepper escorts them out so he can take a quick shower and be ready to go downstairs for the board meeting.

–

“Oh, you’re going out again,” Tiberius says, voice light, and something inside of Tony clenches up.

“Again?” he says, mouth gone dry.

Tiberius gives him a look like he’s a silly child. “This is the third Thursday you’ve gone out to Brooklyn. At least I assume that’s where you’re going tonight?”

Tony’s fingers twitch.

Tiberius knows. His heart starts to pound. How much does he know? Tony’s not doing anything wrong, why is he getting so worked up about this?

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “There’s a bar. I met some people.”

Tiberius smiles and steps forward, hooking a hand around Tony’s waist and pulling him in. His lips brush Tony’s cheekbone and for a second he forgets how to breathe. “I hope you’ll introduce us. I’d like to meet them.”

“Yeah,” Tony croaks. “Of course.”

Ty releases him. “Have fun tonight.” He waves and disappears into the bathroom.

It takes Tony a long minute to get his heart under control. He feels shaky, anxiety thrumming under his skin like a live current, like he’s had too much caffeine. What the hell’s wrong with him, why is he freaking out?

He must've—he must’ve told Ty. About—

But he knows that’s not true.

His phone buzzes and he starts. Steve. Glancing in the mirror, he pulls himself together, brushing away the sheen of sweat on his forehead. Ty wasn’t angry; he’s not doing anything wrong. _Everything’s fine,_ he tells himself.

He’s still distracted when he gets downstairs and can’t even fully appreciate the way Steve lights up at the sight of him.

“Tony,” Steve says when he gets close, “hey, are you okay?”

Tony makes himself smile, tries again to shake the crawling sense of anxiety. “Yeah,” he says. “Glad to see you.” Which is true. Being in proximity to Steve is already bringing his blood pressure down. It’s a funny effect that he used to only associate with Pepper and Rhodey. Not since Tiberius… He doesn’t want to think about this.

“You sure you’re okay?” Steve asks.

“Yes,” he says, determined to make it true. “Let’s go. THING HE WAS PROMISED BY OTHER AVENGER.”

–

“We can come to yours,” Steve says, “if you’ve got stuff to do?”

Tony stares at him for a moment, and then huffs, head tipping to the side. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve ever believed wanted to do it to spend time with me and not just to see my house.”

“I’ve seen one of your houses,” Natasha says. Then she wrinkles her nose, a glint in her eye. “Not that impressive.”

God help him, Tony likes her. Nat, as the other four are frequently calling her, is a lot more easy-going than the Natalie he’d known.

–

For a second, Tony thinks Steve is going to finish his aborted grab for Tony’s shirt, the way Ty does whenever he’s feeling weird about the arc reactor. _I’ve already seen it, Tony, don’t be absurd_ , he’ll say and then pull it off whether Tony protests or not. But Steve’s hands pull back.

“Okay,” he says. “But you should take this and change.” He hands over a thick fuzzy sweatshirt.

–

 **UNKNOWN NUMBER  
** Things any better today?

 

Tony squints at the display in front of him. “JARVIS. Who is this. Why is this person texting me? Am I fifteen? Why are we texting?”

“I believe, sir, this is the gentleman you asked me to call the other evening when you were…upset.”

Tony feels his eyebrows go up. “Oh. Oh, this is blondie? Okay. That makes sense then. He’s like, twenty-six. Ugh. Children. Pick up the phone, use the phone, it’s faster! No typing!”

“You don’t type your replies, sir,” JARVIS reminds him and Tony glares at the nearest camera.

“Shut up, you.” He sighs and rubs a hand over his jaw, tilting his head back and forth to scrutinize the message. “Save name as Steve. Reply…” He bites his lip, considering. Why’s he even asking, he barely knows Tony and he only knows him as “the drunk asshole who showed up my house and assaulted me”. Then again he’d taken care of Tony’s hungover ass. “Um.” He rubs at his brow. “Reply: yes?”

“With a question mark, sir?”

“Who programmed all this cheek into you, for crying out loud. NO, not with a question mark. Reply: Yes, things are better. …are they? Ty’s still being kind of weird and I’m, I don’t know what I am. You’re not typing this, are you, you asshole?”

“I would never.”

Tony scrubs a hand over his face. “Uh. Okay. I still don’t know how to answer that question.” He throws up his hands. “Oh my god, this is a simple question, Stark, just answer it!”

“May I suggest something, sir?”

“Well, clearly, I am not capable of answering this question, so yeah, sure, hit me, what’ve you got?”

“‘Things remain somewhat turbulent, but I am well, and you?’ I believe would suffice.”

“Yeah, okay,” Tony agrees. “Cut the J-Speak though, huh?”

“‘Eh, things are iffy, but I’m good. You?’” JARVIS recites and Tony can’t help but smile.

“Send it.”

“Message sent.”

“Okay, now where were we?”

“We were DOING A SCIENCY ENGINEERING THING.” 

“Okay, let’s DO RELATED SCIENCY ENGIN–”

Tony’s phone chimes.

He stares as the new message springs forward on his display. “Wow, seriously, no delay whatsoever?”

 

 **STEVE**  
I’m fine, thanks. Sorry to hear things are still rough between you two.

 

Tony continues to stare at the message. “I don’t know what to say to that. What do I say to that? Thank you??”

Before he or JARVIS can reply, another message appears.

 

 **STEVE  
** I don’t know what you did to Sam’s laptop, but he’s overjoyed.

 

Tony smiles at that. “Reply: I made it 45% less of a piece of crap, of course he is.” He starts to go back to work then says, “Add: When he wants to get a real computer, tell him to give me a ring, I’ll hook him up.”

Steve’s reply comes before he’s managed to do more than figure out where he left off.

 

 **STEVE  
** Don’t do him too many favors. You give Sam an inch and he’ll take ten miles.

 

“Is that why you live with him?” Tony asks aloud and JARVIS has sent it before he can think better of the question.

–

steve asks him stuff about work and then a few hours after their conversation tony sees news coverage of the avengers where they use the principle he was talking about and he texts steve and is like “check out this footage, this is what i was talking about”

 

Steve starts texting him regularly, which is kind of weird. He never asks for anything, just asks questions like, “How are you?” and “What’s your stance on raising the minimum wage?” and “You make robots, right? What are important systems? How do you recognize them?”

“What kind of robot?” Tony asks.

There’s a pause in the conversation that goes on for several minutes. That’s–actually that’s unheard of. If they’re chatting, Steve always replies within a minute or two.

“Steve?” Tony prompts when it stretches toward ten minutes.

Two minutes later, Steve finally responds, “Sorry. Distracted. Bad robots?”

Tony snorts. “Right, forgot who I was talking to.”

He explains the best he can without specifics and tries to elaborate on how things might differ depending upon the purpose of the robot and the maker. When he finally winds down, Steve texts back, “Thanks, Tony, that’s really helpful. ttyl?”

“TTYL,” Tony agrees, then says to JARVIS, “Well, that was weird.”

Later that night when JARVIS is taking him through the day’s news, there’s a clip of Captain America and Black Widow riding a robot shaped like a top like a bucking bronco while they pull out its innards and he has JARVIS text it to Steve. “Good illustration of what we were talking about. Cap’s pulling out the computer.”

**STEVE  
** This is great, thanks, Tony.

–

It bugs him.

It really bugs him. Tony lies through his teeth and says it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care, when he catches Tiberius banging his latest conquest–and why is he always catching them? The Tower’s massive and he still keeps managing to run into them. If it weren’t so patently absurd he’d suspect it were happening on purpose.

He’d come home hoping to just spend some time with Tiberius, but their little naked samba has pretty much doused that desire.

 

 **STEVE  
** You okay?

 

Tony grimaces. He’s been answering all of Steve’s texts. How good is this guy that he can tell even in writing?

“Yeah,” he replies. “Things are just…whatever. I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

 **STEVE  
** Want to drink about it?

 

Tony laughs despite himself.

 

 **STEVE  
** My friends and I meet up on Thursdays, you want in?

 

Tony fiddles with the tools in his hands. He can sit here and try to get some work done and stew about Ty, or he can go out with Steve.

“Where am I going?”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh and by the way HERE’S A NEW PART OF TIBERIUS
> 
> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> warning: mentions of past trauma, emotional abuse, gaslighting, intimidation, probably ableism since i’m attempting to write a subplot involving disabilities
> 
> i am at the point in the process where I just write random things and hope eventually i’ll be able to stitch something together that makes sense. so please don’t read this expecting any coherency whatsoever. if it seems like you missed something, don’t worry, you didn’t.

~~get somebody to tell you what a thing where tony might talk about the prosthetic line would be like~~

Steve wants to see Tony before he goes on, so he knows there are some friendly faces in the crowd. It doesn’t seem like he needs it—in the clips Steve’s seen, he handles crowds of people easy as breathing—but Steve’s never forgotten how it felt to be up in front of an audience that didn’t want what you were peddling. A little support goes a long way.

He’s snooping around, trying to figure out where the greenroom might be when he catches the cadence of Tony’s voice coming from somewhere. He stops, listening hard to pinpoint where. “…so I was thinking I can discuss the success Grawlins’ has had with their prosthetic line, I know people think I’m nuts, but there’s a precedence for this kind of thing and the tech has multiple applications…”

Steve finally locates him behind a temporary wall set up behind the platform at the front of the room. He’s with a man about Steve’s height, with long blond hair tied back in a low ponytail. He’s wearing a razor sharp, incredibly expensive looking suit and even though Tony’s talking, he’s paying more attention to the Stark phone in his hand.

“What do you think?” Tony prompts, after a beat of silence.

* * *

–

The bartender does a double-take when he looks up and sees Steve standing across the bar. Then his face smooths and he says, “Evening, sir. What can I get you?”

Steve smiles crookedly, grateful for the effort to treat him like he’s not Captain America. “Do you have any of those fizzy juices?” he asks.

“Mister Stark asked us to stock carbonated grapefruit and we have ginger beer and the usual sodas. Something like that for you?”

“The grapefruit, please,” Steve says.

“Sure thing.”

Steve looks around the room while he waits. The place is stunning, with an art deco theme that’s comfortingly familiar, but modern at the same time. On the main wall there’s a big circular frosted window that’s glowing a soft white from the exterior lights. The guests, all decked out in black tie, swirl around tall, round cocktail tables draped in a luxurious red tablecloths and the room is warm with the sound of conversation and tinkling glassware. Steve knows Tony’s around somewhere and the thought makes his stomach flip. With any luck, he’ll have a few minutes later to change and show his support in a way Tony can see.

“Captain,” the bartender says, and Steve turns, offering him a smile. He raises the glass in thanks. “Hey,” the bartender says, just before Steve turns away, “Can I just ask? What are you doing at a party like this?”

“I was asked to attend. I accepted because I wanted to support what Mister Stark is doing.”

“Stark Industries is doing something Captain America wants to support? You don’t do much stuff like this from what I’ve seen, so what’s so special about this?”

“He’s working on making better prostheses that are more affordable for the people who need them. People like soldiers, who come home from this war we started disenfranchised.”

The bartender seems startled by that. “Oh. That’s. That’s pretty cool.”

Steve smiles kindly at him. “Yeah, it is.”

There are big potted plants on either side of the bar, with white flowers curling up to their square-cut tops and Steve points at one and takes a chance. “If I step back there for a breather, will you do me a favor and not mention it to anyone?”

The kid glances over his shoulder at the plant and shrugs one shoulder. “Naw, go ahead, I’ll cover you.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, meaning it.

He slips back behind it, where he won’t be seen and takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. He’s going to have to start talking to people once everyone’s filtered into the room and he just needs a minute to steel himself. It’s exhausting maintaining the persona, and he’ll have to be especially careful of what he says tonight, if his support is going to mean anything for Tony.

He’s preparing himself to step carefully back out into view when he hears Tony’s voice. “…so’re you gonna tell me how you think it went, or are you going to make me beg for it?”

“It went fine, Tony,” a man says, tone exasperated. Steve peeks through a gap in the shrub and sees a man with long blond hair tied back in a low ponytail and eyes like ice standing at the bar next to Tony.

Who looks…wow. His tux is structured in long, beautiful lines, but it looks soft, too. The shirt is pristine snow white with an immaculate bow tie and whatever they’ve done to Tony’s hair looks great. He just looks…great.

Tony gives the blond an exasperated look back. “I’m not exactly going for fine here, Ty.”

Ty rolls his eyes. Steve doesn’t get the feeling it’s the same as when Bucky rolls his eyes at Steve. “Baby, I don’t know what you want from me. You wowed them, people will be cutting off their left and right arms to get one of their very own—”

Tony looks shocked for a second, then he frowns and says, “Come on, that’s in really poor taste—”

Ty keeps laughing though, one hand braced on the bar. “How else are you going to carve a market?” he says suggestively and Tony steps closer, shooting a nervous look at the other party-goers, and puts a hand on Ty’s elbow.

“I’m not kidding, Tiberius, that’s not funny.”

Steve knows for sure then, that this is the Tiberius Tony’s told him about. This is the man who makes Tony so miserable, who makes him question himself, and who opened their relationship. He can hardly believe what he’s seeing.

“Oh, relax about it, Tony,” Tiberius says irritably, the smile melting off his face. “You’re so goddamn sensitive.”

Tony seems to shrink and Steve very nearly stalks out to give Tiberius a piece of his mind, but somebody calls Tony’s name and he turns away from the bar. Tiberius catches him by the arm. “Martini?”

“No, just get me a grapefruit juice, the bar will know,” Tony says, voice subdued. Steve sees him put his smile back on like it’s a hat when he turns away.

Tiberius doesn’t seem particularly concerned, or as if he’s noticed the shift in Tony’s mood at all. He takes out his phone and taps idly at it. The only thing that stops Steve from going out and giving him a what-for is that if he causes a scene, it might hurt Tony’s product launch.

After a minute or so, Tiberius waves the bartender to the end of the bar.

“Yes, sir, how can I help you?”

“I want an Old Fashioned, and give me one of those grapefruit sodas, but I want you to add a bit of a subtle kick to it, you understand?”

The bartender’s hands falter. “Sir, Mister Stark specifically requested a non-alcoholic soda—”

Tiberius’ nostrils flare, his eyes narrowing. “Do you think you know my boyfriend better than I do? I didn’t ask for your opinion. Now do your goddamn job, or I’ll see to it they find someone else who will.”

Steve steps out from behind the plant, mouth already opening, his ears burning with fury and that’s when a female voice calls, “Ah, Captain, there you are.”

Pepper Potts sweeps between him and the piece of dirt marring the front of the bar. She’s nearly as tall as he is, her long red hair pulled up into a sleek bun at the top of her head. She smiles reassuringly, and Steve is torn between watching the bartender pour something into the grapefruit juice Tony asked for and meeting her gaze. “Miss Potts,” he says, “can you just—excuse me, for one minute—”

He moves to step around her and that’s when Tony returns, Tiberius sliding the glass into Tony’s hand with a broad smile. Steve’s stomach twists, heat flaring up his chest into his throat. Son of a _bitch._

“Thanks,” Tony says, and lifts the glass to his mouth. Steve wants to knock it out of his hand. Before it touches his lips, though, he frowns. He sniffs the glass and then twists to look back at the bartender. “Hey, is there liquor in this?”

The bartender fidgets nervously, his shoulders already drooping. “Yes, sir,” he admits, despite the nasty look Tiberius is giving him.

Tony slides the glass back onto the bar. “What’s that about? I thought I was clear earlier.”

“Captain?” Pepper says, sounding puzzled.

“You were, very, sir,” the bartender says, “I—”

“Oh, just take the drink, Tony, Jesus,” Tiberius cuts in. “Are you really going to make me drink alone?”

Steve can hardly believe his audacity.

Tony scowls. “Hey, I told you I’m trying out sobriety. If you want to drink, that’s your business, but I’m done.”

Tiberius leans in and says something in a hiss that Steve can’t make out even with his enhanced hearing, but it leaves Tony looking angry and gutted. Whatever it is, Steve hates Tiberius for it.

“Captain?”

Steve half turns back, realizing he’s left Pepper standing there waiting, but he can’t quite drag his eyes from Tony. Tony, who accepts the new glass the bartender hands him and waves off his apology.

“Captain, is everything okay?”

It’s a relief when Steve sees Natasha appear out of the crowd, the way the pain fades out of Tony’s expression, his face brightening.

Finally, he turns away. “Yes, sorry,” he says. “I…thought I heard something.”

Pepper’s eyebrows rise. “Charles,” she says, raising her voice slightly, “ask Happy to do a patrol.” She smiles politely. “You can’t be too careful, you know.”

Steve’s face heats under the mask. “No of course not,” he agrees. “Thank you for inviting me,” he hurries to add, suddenly realizing he’s been ignoring her.

“We’re happy you wanted to help support the line. I know you seldom do endorsements, so we appreciate it doubly.”

“It’s a project worth supporting,” Steve says, honestly and sneaks a glance over to where Tony is now talking with Nat and Thor. He laughs, throwing his head back and Steve’s stomach goes funny and warm.

The sensation quickly curdles into guilt. Tony deserves better than this, than his half-truths.

“Let me introduce you to a few people,” Pepper says and Steve summons up the smile that always sold the most bonds back in the day.

For now, he’ll do what he can.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS TO @onemuseleft, A NEW PART OF TIBERIUS
> 
> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> warning: mentions of past trauma, emotional abuse, gaslighting, intimidation, probably ableism since i’m attempting to write a subplot involving disabilities

“So,” Tony says, clapping his hands together, “where’s Cap? We haven’t been introduced yet.”

Pepper hesitates, just a fraction of a second. “Actually, he requested that you not meet. It was his one stipulation for coming tonight.”

He’s not even the same guy Tony’s dad had such a hard-on for, he’s a second-rate knock off, but it still feels like a knife to the chest.

“Oh,” Tony says and his voice sounds far away to his own ears.

“He seemed to think it would be better for him not to appear to have a personal relationship with you,” Pepper says and she sounds sorry.

“Sure,” Tony says.

It sounds reasonable, but all he can hear is _Captain America doesn’t want to meet you_ and it still hurts.

–

It sticks with him all night, even after Steve shows up around eleven, breathless and trying to smooth his hair down, telling Tony earnestly how sorry he is he’s late.

He knows it’s absurd, but he can’t get past it.  At the end of the night, he sits down heavily on the end of the bed while Ty undresses. “Why are you moping?” he asks from inside the closet.

Tony grimaces and rubs his eyes with the heel of one palm. Ty’s going to think he’s being ridiculous. He’ll be lucky not to get laughed at.

Tony must be a sucker, because he says, “Captain America made it a stipulation of his appearance that he not meet me.”

There’s rustling in the closet and then Tiberius pokes his head out, his expression incredulous. “He made it a stipulation? What the hell kind of stipulation is that?”

Tony laughs, raw and vulnerable. “I don’t know. Pepper said he didn’t want it to look like we had a personal relationship. Like that would taint his support?” That just makes Tony feel worse.

Tiberius comes and sits by him, curling one arm around his shoulders sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Tony. I know how much Captain America means to you.”

Tony snorts and buries his face in his hands. “Captain America means jack shit to me.”

“Mhm,” Ty says, his skepticism clear in his voice. He’s rubbing circles on Tony’s back and it makes him feel like a child.

“I just don’t fucking get it,” Tony says, and he’s ashamed to hear his voice crack.

–

The next evening, Tony feels worse, if that’s even possible. He considers canceling his trip to the bar, but Steve texts, _Can’t wait to see you tonight,_ and he can’t bring himself to do it.

He pulls on his best press smile when he gets to the bar and Steve pauses, halfway out of his chair. Natasha’s smile slips right off her face. “What happened?” she demands.

“Nothing,” Tony protests, but it’s half-hearted at best. He gets a weird surge of emotion at the way they’re all looking at him and it makes his eyes prick, which is just fucking humiliating.

“Jesus, Tony,” Steve breathes, and pulls out the chair next to him, pressing Tony gently into it. “It’s obviously not nothing.”

Tony closes his eyes for a second and pulls himself together. “Honestly, it’s nothing—”

“Try again,” Clint says. To his right, Thor shifts his chair a little closer, until their knees are pressed together.  Tony doesn’t quite know what to do with all the attention and he cracks. He cracks like a goddamn egg.

He braces his elbows on the table and covers his eyes with his hands, because he can’t say it and look them in the eye. “You know the product launch party?”

“Yeah, you’ve been a nervous wreck,” Sam says. “Did it go badly?”

“No,” Natasha says sharply, “it went perfectly. The party was beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” Tony says, “this is so stupid, I’m not doing this.”

He tries to sit up, but Steve says, “Tony,” his voice soft and earnest and sympathetic and Tony crumbles.

“Captain America endorsed the line, right? So he came to the party—he came and his one— _one—_ fucking stipulation, was that he didn’t want to meet me. And it’s ridiculous, it’s laughable, that I am getting worked up over this, but there was one _fucking_ person my dad slavered over and it was Captain Perfect and now this fucking _knockoff_ won’t even fucking _meet me_.”

Steve’s hand goes rigid on his back.

“Um,” Bruce says, and Tony looks up to see him quietly trying to slip a newspaper into his lap. Ice washes down the back of Tony’s neck. He snatches the paper up and Bruce blurts, “Tony, no—”

It takes him half a second to find the column title at the bottom of the page. _CAP SNUBS STARK_

“The papers know,” he says numbly. “How the hell do the papers know. Oh god.” He clutches the paper so tightly his knuckles start to go white.

“He—that—“ Steve sounds like he’s choking. “Tony, that can’t be what he meant. He must've—he must’ve had a _reason._ ”

Tony laughs bitterly and drops his head down onto the table, right on the paper. “Yeah.”

_Because I’m an arms dealer, because I’m a bad person, because I’m a drunk, because I’m just as worthless as my dad always said._

“I just— I just mean, maybe he didn’t want to endorse the company?” He hisses out the last syllable between his teeth.

Sam’s voice is pointed when he says, “He was literally _there_ to endorse something.”

Steve’s flustered embarrassment is palpable. “I mean, maybe he didn’t want to steal your thunder, you know, take away from the product and how great it is.”

“Right,” Tony says flatly. “Because ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ in the contract screams ’ _I’m thrilled to be doing this’.”_ He pats Steve’s thigh. “You’re cute, but naive.”

“You assume the worst,” Steve says, sounding more sure-footed.

“Haven’t been wrong yet,” Tony mutters. “It’s when I trust people I get into trouble.”

The table’s very quiet after that.

–

It’s weird enough that Steve wants to spend time with him with no endgame. There’s his weird secret job, but it honestly doesn’t seem to have anything to do with Tony. So he doesn’t want money, he’s interested in sex, but isn’t trying to get it, and he cares about Tony’s products, but he never asks for details that might throw up a red flag.

It’s _weird._

It only gets weirder when the Steve’s friends start to reach out to him. Weirder still, when one night after seeing a movie with Steve, Bucky, and Natasha, Steve is in the bathroom and Bucky, who has Natasha’s arm around his waist, catches Tony by the elbow. Tonight’s been unnervingly like a double-date, except he and Steve aren’t dating.

Tony instantly goes tense and only just manages to quell the urge to jab his hand into Bucky’s arm. He’s wearing a strange expression.

“You okay?”

That’s the opposite of what Tony’s expecting. He frowns, trying to figure out what he did that might have raised the question. “I’m good,” he tries.

Natasha tilts her head in a way that makes him think that’s not the right answer. But he is, isn’t he? He’s had a good time tonight and he feels like he’s managing to make Bucky like him a little better. Natasha keeps rolling her eyes at him, but he doesn’t feel like he did when she was Natalie, like he can’t pinpoint her motives. She seems comfortable and happy, which, from the sappy looks Steve keeps giving her and Bucky, is something of a novelty.

“You seem tired, is all,” Bucky says. Then, like he’s quoting someone, “'There isn’t a right or wrong answer to that question. You are how you are.'”

Natasha smirks. “That’s what his therapist tells him when he thinks about it too hard,” she clarifies.

Tony blinks. “You have a therapist and you tell people about it?” He’s immediately mortified, because that’s the kind of thing that gets him labeled A Giant Asshole, but Bucky just snorts.

“If I weren’t, I’d still be monosyllabic and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I _need_ therapy.”

“So much therapy,” Natasha says and they smile at each other, in a way that makes Tony’s stomach twist with longing.

“It helps?” Tony says dubiously.

“Monosyllabic,” Bucky repeats.

Natasha shrugs one shoulder. “I go, too.”

Tony stares incredulously. “You?”

She smiles, but this time her the lines around her eyes are a little tight. “You know who I am, Tony, who I was. I’m not the paragon of mental health you see before you due to sheer willpower.” Her smile goes crooked and wry.

Steve comes back then, shrugging his shoulders and slipping his fingers into his pockets.

“What about you?” Tony blurts.

Steve tilts his head, adorably puzzled. “What about me?”

“Do you go to therapy, too?”

Steve flushes, embarrassment evident on his face and it probably says a lot about how screwed up Tony is that that reassures him. “Ah, yeah,” Steve admits, tapping the toe of one shoe on the wood floor. “It took some doing, but Sam talked me into it. It’s…” He shifts uncomfortably and shrugs. It’s strange seeing him so shy. “It’s not fun, but it helps.”

“Bruce, Sam, and Clint all go, too. Thor gets all out of whack if he misses an appointment,” Natasha says with a smile and that makes Steve smile, too, his eyes finally coming up from the floor.

“What, seriously?” Tony says, “All of you? Thor, Asgardian demi-god sits around once a week and talks about his feelings?”

Natasha laughs. “That’s understating it a little, but yes.” She glances at Bucky and Steve. “He goes three times a week if he can, doesn’t he?”

Steve smiles and half rolls his eyes, affectionately. “Yeah, at least.”

That’s…a little bewildering to say the least. Two Avengers, two super-spies, and some of the man’s-maniest guys Tony knows and they’re in therapy? That doesn’t jive at all.

“Hey,” Bucky says, nudging him in the shoulder. “I’m not saying you need therapy, so relax, will ya? You just looked a little tired is all and I thought I’d  see if there was anything up.”

“Uh, no,” Tony says, still feeling a little thrown. “Nothing’s up. Got a lot on my plate, but that’s typical.”

“Glad to hear it,” Bucky says and curls his non-bionic hand around the back of Tony’s neck. It’s weirdly warm and reassuring and Tony’s throat tightens. He enjoys it and wants to get the fuck back to the shop where the world makes sense all at once. What the hell.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS HELPING SO MUCH OMFG
> 
> warning: just hints of emotional abuse in this part

Tony is testing the function of the newly-built repulsors when a text appears in his peripheral vision, hovering in mid-air.

BUCKY  
Bringing Steve to you. Dropping him off in ten minutes—feel free to leave his ass on the curb.

BUCKY  
IF SAM N ME DON’T WRING HIS GODDAMN NECK BEFRE WE GET THERE

Tony blinks at the messages. “Well, I’m curious,” he says aloud.

DUM-E chirps.

“Yeah, get over here,” Tony tells the bot, eyes skimming over the messages again. He waves a finger. “Clean this mess up. You have ten minutes before I decide you’re a waste of space and figure out how to open one of these windows and push you out.”

DUM-E beeps at him and wheels over, claw dipping down to start picking up Tony’s debris.

“Yeah, uh huh,” Tony replies absently, slipping the repulsor wiring assembly back onto a stand sitting on the bench nearby. He’s pleased with the progress he’s been making on the suit. The fire he felt after Afghanistan is kindling again with every solder and lately he’s been wondering how the hell he let himself get so far off track. Yinsen died for him and he lost focus on the mission. Get Stark Industries back on track, destroy any black market products he can find, make reparations. He slipped right back into the person he was before and that’s unacceptable. He’s alive for a reason, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make Yinsen’s sacrifice worth something.

Just a quick break to see what’s going on with Steve and he’ll get back to it.

Tony’s hair is stringy with grease when he gets a look at it in the bathroom mirror, so he bends over the sink and shampoos it hastily, scrubbing it dry with a towel before sniffing his pits to see if they pass muster. An extra layer of deodorant and he’s ready to call it good. He heads downstairs to see if Steve’s been delivered as promised.

Tony doesn’t emerge in the SI portions of the building in his shop clothes very frequently, so he gets a couple of turned heads as he crosses the lobby. He’s only halfway to the door when he spots Steve through the glass, squinting up at the Tower with a frown, shoulders hunched. [He’s wearing a gray—splint, or something, that looks kind of like a vest that’s holding his right arm in an L across his body with a wide strap that goes all the way around his body ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.ortix.ru.images.1c-bitrix-cdn.ru%2Fupload%2Fresize_cache%2Fiblock%2F8e5%2F176_200_26a9cdfeb475445909b854c588a1af844%2F8e549ca8f78cc67d651cf5f5c16d3a0f.jpg%3F146614362712751&t=NmUwMjZiMzQ5NjhlZTIzNzBkZTFjZGI4NTM1Mzk4YWExMTlmMDQ3Miw2Y0lUMEVwNw%3D%3D)over his usual white t-shirt.

Tony pushes open the door and calls out over the throng of people streaming past, “Break your arm?”

Steve’s gaze drops down, his brow twisting in a scowl. “You are a genius.”

Raising his eyebrows, Tony replies, “I see why Barnes said I could leave you on the curb if I wanted.”

Something that’s a mixture of shame, irritation, and embarrassment washes over Steve’s face. He moves toward Tony, eyes firmly stuck to the ground and mutters, “Yeah, I broke it. Sorry. I’m a little…irritable.”

“That’s quite a rig they’ve got you in.” Tony puts a hand lightly on Steve’s back and guides him through the door.

Steve sighs and rubs at one eye. “Apparently I can’t be trusted to go easy with one of the regular splints.”

Tony laughs. “It’s like they don’t know you at all.” His grin broadens when Steve gives him a look that’s caught between a glare and a smile. They board the elevator side by side. “So you’re pissy because you’re antsy and in pain and Barnes and Wilson decided to drop you off here before they forget that you’re normally a very pleasant person to be around and they’ll regret it if they murder you?”

“Pretty much.”

Tony puts a hand over his heart. “I’m touched that they think I’m so much more tolerant.”

Steve snorts and looks at Tony out of the corner of his eye. “They know I want you to like me,” he mutters. “They expect me to be on my best behavior.”

Something in Tony’s chest flutters the way it does every time Steve implies he’s trying to impress Tony. He doesn’t really get why Steve wants to impress a guy like him so bad.

“You’re a corporate spy for HammerTech. Pym Tech? Apple?”

Steve turns his head to stare. “They have corporate spies?”

“That’s not a no,” Tony says, but he’s only teasing.

“No,” Steve replies, shaking his head. “I’m no spy. Corporate or otherwise. Just ask Natasha.”

Knowing what he does about Steve, Tony tries to imagine him as a spy and giggles to himself. Steve smiles wryly. “You’re right, it’s not your style is it? Well, in that case, want me to show you around? Might be a good distraction.”

“Yeah, I’d like that, Tony.”

So Tony gives him the grand tour, showing off the corporate floors–cubicles as far as the eye can see, the green floor (“People think better if they can get fresh air and this is the freshest air in New York.”), the labs, and finally the workshop where he’s been working with the R&D team on the prosthetic prototypes.

Steve asks a lot of questions and seems to be enjoying himself, although his energy is definitely flagging by the time they get to the shop. Tony pauses before diving headlong into explaining what they’ve been doing because Steve looks pretty pinched around the eyes and he’s not watching what Tony points out as attentively as he has been. “We can do this another time,” Tony suggests. Normally when Ty starts to look like that a blow up isn’t far behind.

Looking up, Steve meets his eyes and sets his jaw mulishly. “No, I’m fine. I want to see it.”

“It’ll still be here, I could use a break too—”

“I said I’m fine,” Steve snaps and Tony only just keeps from flinching. Whomp, there it is.

“Sure, okay,” he says lightly. “We’ll keep going. Whatever you want.”

Steve looks pissed, but he follows along behind Tony listening almost aggressively while Tony gives a basic sketch of what they’ve been up to. It’s not half as much as he’d usually go into and Steve seems to know it because he’s fuming in no time.

“Dammit, Tony, I said I was fine. I don’t need to be coddled like a baby. It’s bad enough Buck and Sam dropped me off here like I’m some kid who needs constant supervision.”

Tony blinks at him, hopelessly lost. “I never said you were, but you’re injured and I thought maybe you might want to sit down for five minutes. It’s not character commentary—”

“I can take care of myself!”

One thing Tony’s learned is when surrender is the better part of valor. He raises his hands and says, “All right, okay. Sorry.”

Steve’s angry moue holds for another moment, then fades into exhaustion and frustration, his eyes dipping closed. He rubs hard at his forehead. “Is there— Can I just get something to eat?”

Tony nods. He fucked this all up, but he can do that, for sure. “Yeah, come on. Let me show you the cafeteria.”

They’re quiet while they eat, the silence pressing in on Tony like a physical object. He’s not sure where the hell he went wrong and he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing. He hadn’t meant to imply Steve was helpless—it was pretty obvious that was not the case.

Finally though, he can’t help asking, “Have you, uh, have you had a painkiller recently? Not because you’re not—strong enough, or whatever, I just remember when I broke my ribs I got really irritable—not that you’re irritable—when I didn’t keep on top of my schedule—”

Steve sighs gustily and Tony’s mouth snaps shut. That just makes Steve’s face twist further. “No—Tony, stop. This isn’t your fault. I am irritable. And, no, I haven’t taken a painkiller. The over the counter stuff doesn’t really work on me and the strong stuff makes it too hard to think.”

“Jesus,” Tony says, “no wonder you’re pissy.”

Steve laughs wearily and puts his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I let you take me around longer than I should have because I was having fun and then I started feeling shitty and I took it out on you. I’m sorry. I’m gonna—I’m gonna try to do better. Because it’s really not fair to you. Or Sam ‘n Buck.”

“Forget it,” Tony says, waving a hand. “No big deal.”

Steve looks up at him though, brow furrowing. “No, it’s not. I’m serious, Tony. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t ever talk to you like that, especially when you were trying to help.”

“Let’s drop it,” Tony says firmly. “Water under the bridge.”

Steve’s frown deepens and for a second Tony thinks he’s fucked up again. Then Steve sighs and bends forward, resting his forehead against the table, curled up around his arm. “God, I fucking hate this.”

“Broken bones suck ass,” Tony agrees cheerfully because that’s the only thing in this conversation he can wrap his head around.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> warning: implied emotional abuse in this part

Tony’s birthday falls on a Thursday.

Ty is throwing him a party and he’s resigned himself to a third Steve-less week when Steve texts him.

 

 **STEVE  
** You’re coming tonight, right?

 

Tony whines, because JARVIS is the only one who will hear him.

“What distresses you, Sir?” JARVIS asks.

“Steve wants to know if I’m coming tonight, but I can’t.”

“Your birthday party doesn’t begin until ten o'clock,” JARVIS says. “You have two hours before then, and I know you prefer to be fashionably late. Why should you not go?”

Tony chews at the bristles under his lip. “You’re a bad influence.”

“I am what you have made me to be.”

“All right, you talked me into it. Tell him yes.” And just like that, his night is instantly better.

Happy drops him off at the bar just after eight. Before he even gets inside, Tony is smiling.

Everyone is already inside at the usual table and it sends a rush of pleasure through him, just to see them. And it’s literally everyone—Jane, Darcy, Selvig, even Bruce’s lady-friend Betty is there. Clint is the first to spot him. “Well, look who showed up!” he yells, voice carrying over the noise of the bar. “It’s the birthday boy!”

A jolt of shock goes through him and Tony stares as everyone turns, faces alight, half of them rising and starting to sing. “ _Happy birthday to you_ —”

He finds Steve’s face among the others and he’s grinning wide enough to split his face, singing right along with them, “ _Happy birthday to you_ —”

Everyone else in the bar has cottoned on now and by the time the notes start climbing toward his name, there are a hundred voices singing and Tony’s pretty sure he could fry an egg on his face.

“ _Happy birthday to yooooouuuuuu._ ” Clint warbles the final line long after everyone else has stopped singing and dissolved into hooting and cheers.

Steve gets up to meet him, still grinning, his face flushed. “Surprise.”

“How did you know it was my birthday?” Tony asks, flabbergasted. Someone puts a drink in his hand and he thanks them absently.

Steve shrugs. “It’s on Wikipedia.” For a second he just stands there, smiling so hugely at Tony that he’s thrown by it, his breath escaping him. Then Steve gingerly takes his wrist and says, “Come on, we have presents.”

Tony’s head jerks back, even as his body goes where Steve leads. “You—you got me presents?”

“Of course we got you presents,” Sam says, like he’s said something deeply offensive. And there are, in fact, half a dozen brightly wrapped packages piled among the food and drinks on the table.

Tony is pretty sure he’s not supposed to feel like the world’s turned upside down because his friends got him birthday presents.

“Go on,” Steve prods, pushing one of the piles a little closer. “Open them.” Then his brow furrows. “Unless you’d rather wait and do it in private. That’s okay, too.”

“No, I—” Tony glances around at them all, bewildered. “Thank you,” he says and, wow, that doesn’t even begin to cover it. He pulls the first stack toward himself and picks the one off the top—it’s sloppily wrapped in gold and red striped paper.

“That’s mine,” Clint says, sticking his hand up like a ten-year-old in class. “Mine. Nobody else gets credit for this one.” He stares everyone down and Sam rolls his eyes.

“From Clint, got it,” Tony says. He tears the wrapping away and finds himself holding a flat cardboard package with an orange circle encased in plastic that reads WEENER KLEENER SOAP at the top.

“You’re welcome,” Clint says emphatically.

“I’ll think of you every time I use it,” Tony says sweetly and delights in the play of emotions that cross Clint’s face.

The next one looks like it was wrapped by a hurricane. Thor has the grace to look sheepish. “I did not have the patience to learn the art of wrapping.”

“That’s okay, buddy. It’s what’s on the inside that counts, right?”

Jane shrugs sheepishly. “I wasn’t much help. Happy birthday, Tony.”

And what’s inside certainly catches his attention. It’s a rectangular glass bottle with an ornate stopper and it’s filled with what looks like pure liquid gold. Tony turns it over, a little mesmerized by the way the slightly viscous liquid clings to the glass. “What is this?”

Thor smiles, looking pleased with himself. “The finest Asgardian mead.”

Tony’s eyes go round. “You’re giving me a bottle of _alien booze?”_

“Aye,” Thor says. “It is much preferable to Midgardian potables.”

Tony hugs the bottle to his chest and everyone laughs. He’s finally convinced to put it aside for the other presents, but he makes sure to put it as far away from Clint as possible. Clint sticks his tongue out at him as vengeance. The next gift is Natasha’s and she gives him one of those Mona Lisa smiles when he starts prying at the wrapping. He opens it with deep suspicion.

Deservedly, it turns out: the gift is the exact same kinetic sculpture from Pepper’s desk in LA. He has flashbacks.

“You are evil,” he breathes and Natasha’s cheeks dimple as she forces down her smile.

“Also mine,” Clint says when Tony selects the next package. He gets a few looks for it. “What? I’m not a cheap bastard. The first one was like four bucks.”

This one is soft and squishy and when Tony tears open the paper it’s to discover shiny red fabric. He pulls it out and discovers a pair of teeny tiny red bikini briefs with IRON MAN emblazoned across the ass and a picture of the faceplate on the groin. Tony raises an eyebrow. “Clint, while I’m flattered, I think I’d rather just be friends.”

Clint gives him an exaggerated wink. “Send me a selfie later,” he stage whispers.

Tony grins evilly and for a split-second, Clint looks worried.

“All right, stop screwin’ around,” Bucky complains and pushes the next gift forward. It’s a cardboard tube, not quite a foot long. Tony pries the cap out of one end curiously. There’s a sheet of paper rolled up inside and when he spreads it out, he discovers he’s holding a pencil drawing of himself at a table working with the Iron Man helmet sitting nearby.

Steve smiles sheepishly. “I had to make up a few details, I hope it’s not too inaccurate.”

“No, this is—wow, Steve.”

A light goes on in him, brightening 70%. “I’m glad you like it.”

Tony carefully packs it back into the tube, where it will be safe until he can get it framed. Bruce’s present ends up being coffee.

“So you’ll stop stealing mine,” he says and smiles.

“My gift is dinner and drinks,” Sam says. “Everything’s on me tonight.”

Everybody whoops at that.

“For the birthday boy,” Sam clarifies and Tony grins at the chorus of groans that follow.

The last gift is Bucky’s and it’s a small, plain white envelope. “’S technically a gift from me, Sam, and Steve.”

Tony opens it and tips a single key out into his palm.

“It’s for the apartment,” Bucky clarifies and Tony looks up, startled.

“To _your_ apartment?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “No, the apartment next door. Yeah, our apartment, idiot. I don’t want to have to get off the couch if you decide you’re comin’ over.”

Sam huffs. “What he’s saying in his emotionally-stunted way is we want you to come over whenever you want. We like having you around.”

Tony stares at the key, heart doing strange, twisty things in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say.

“All right,” Bucky says, “pour the man some of that Asgardian shit.”

That raises a cheer in response and Thor pulls the bottle over, pouring the golden liquid into a tumbler. He smiles as he hands it over. “Eat, drink, and be merry, friend.”

“Bottom’s up,” Tony says, lifting the glass and the others raise theirs, echoing toasts of their own. He takes a sip and it tingles on his tongue. It tastes like…Tony doesn’t know what it tastes like, but it’s good. Really good. “This is dangerous,” he tells Thor, and Thor laughs.

“That is why we drink, is it not?”

Tony can’t remember the last time he had so much fun at a party. All it is is talking and eating and a drink or two, but he has a _blast._ Then he hears the long-haired bartender yell, “Last call!” and gets the shock of his life when he discovers it’s nearly a quarter to two.

His heart starts racing. “Is that the time?” he demands, staring furiously at his phone and hoping it’s on the wrong time zone or— _something_. “Shit. _Shit._ ”

Around him conversations die down and faces turn. Steve puts a hand on his arm. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Clint holds out his phone. “Yeah, I’ve got the right side of 2AM, too.”

“Shit!” Tony shoots to his feet, fingers flying over the keyboard of his phone as he summons Happy. “I have to— I have to go. Oh god, I’m so late.”

“Late?” Steve says, frowning.

“Ty, Ty threw me a party tonight, oh fuck, he’s going to be furious.”

Tony starts to feel a little panicky at the mere thought.

“It’s your party though, isn’t it?” Natasha says. “You’re Tony Stark, show up when you want.”

“You don’t understand,” Tony spits and then he’s climbing his way out of the booth and bee-lining for the car. He throws himself inside and snaps, “Drive.”

Five minutes later, when he has nothing to do but wait and try to curse the car into moving faster, he’s left with the image of Steve staring open-mouthed after him, surrounded by the shocked faces of his friends, Tony’s gifts still piled on the table.

It’s a long, miserable drive.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> warning: emotional abuse in this part, alcohol abuse

The party is already well under way when Tony arrives.

A couple of giggling starlets stumble into him as he enters; they smell like they’ve been swimming in booze. He’s too sober for this.

Tony wades through swathes of drunk people stumbling around to music loud enough that it makes the arc reactor shudder in his chest until he finally finds Ty sitting in an alcove with three women and two other men. He breaks into a smile, arms coming forward to reach out to Tony. “Sweetheart, there you are!”

Tony’s heart sinks.

This isn’t going to be a public blow-out. Ty’s putting him in the sweatbox for this. Sometimes Ty does that when he’s angry—it’s like he’s fine, like nothing even happened, they’re all good, only for him to explode later like a time bomb with an invisible timer. The explosion is inevitable, Tony just doesn’t know when it will happen.

“Hey,” Tony breathes, ducking down to kiss him when Ty tugs at his shoulders. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I lost track of time—”

“Somebody get this man a drink!” Ty calls.

“I’m sorry,” Tony repeats in Ty’s ear as he sits, someone putting a tall glass in his hand. Maybe he can mitigate the damage. “Thank you for the party.”

Ty grins and tips the glass toward Tony’s mouth. “Drink up, you’ve got a long way to go to catch up.”

The drink is an _Adios, Motherfucker_ or something like it―strong enough to take down Thor probably. The liquor doesn’t sit well in Tony’s already knotted stomach.

Ty keeps one arm around his neck, like a leash. Tony does his best to look like he’s having the time of his life, laughing raucously and stroking Ty’s thigh with his free hand.

He gets through the first drink and halfway through the second before he can’t ignore his writhing stomach anymore.

Then he drags himself to the bathroom and hurls until he feels like he’s been pulled inside out, tears of exertion collecting in the corners of his eyes.

“I thought you could hold your liquor,” Ty says, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed while Tony struggles to his feet, his neck hot with shame and guilt. The room is swirling around him lazily and Tony just wishes he could get his feet on steady ground.

They go back out to where the party is and it looks like things are winding down. The press of bodies isn’t so thick as it was before. At least, Tony thinks so anyway, he still feels sick and unsteady and just walking takes a fair amount of concentration. God, he hates mixed drinks.

Tiberius shepherds him upstairs and for a minute, Tony’s relieved. Bed, yes, god, please, he just wants to lie down until it feels less like he’s going to slide off of something.

Tiberius closes the bedroom door in his face.

–

“Sir, would you be amenable to a visit from Mr. Rogers?”

Tony lifts his arm up off the table slightly so he can squint out from under it. The ‘shop isn’t the most comfortable place to curl up and nurse a hangover the size of the continental United States, but it’s _his._

“Steve? Why would he come see me?”

“I imagine because he enjoys your company, sir.”

“Not after last night,” Tony mutters and curls up around the mug of coffee he poured when he woke up. He closes his eyes because even the dim lighting he requested is painful and rests his forehead on the rim of the mug.

“And if he did?”

Tony heaves a sigh. “What’s with you and the hypotheticals all of the sudden? Yeah, sure, if Steve wants to swing by he can. Now can we cut the chatter?”

“Mr. Rogers is here to see you, sir,” JARVIS says and Tony jerks upright, hissing when his head throbs viciously in response.

“What the hell do you mean―” He freezes, staring as the opening elevator door catches his eye.

Steve is standing inside carrying a box that―

Tony’s breath catches. It’s full of his gifts from last night.

Steve pokes his head hesitantly out of the elevator, eyes sweeping across the shop. “Tony?”

It’s tempting to just duck under the table and wait for JARVIS to make him go away. The last thing he wants is to get another door slammed in his face, even if it’s metaphorical.

“Tony?” Steve calls again, sounding more uncertain. “JARVIS said I shouldn’t leave the elevator. Are you here?”

“You told him not to leave the elevator?” Tony hisses and a nearby speaker replies sotto voce, “Into the workshop? Certainly not.”

“But you ambushed me with him.”

JARVIS doesn’t dignify that with an answer.

Tony groans and calls over to Steve, “Here. I’m here.”

Steve’s gaze immediately finds him amidst all the machinery and half-built whatever. “Oh, hi.”

Dragging his coffee along with him, Tony goes to join him by the elevator. He squares his shoulders as he approaches, preparing for whatever Steve wants to dish out. “You come here to yell at me?”

Steve blinks at him. “Yell? Why would I yell?” He hefts the box. “You left your presents, I just wanted to bring them to you.” He hesitates and Tony braces for the ugliness. “And I wanted to see if you were okay.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Why would you do that.”

Steve frowns like Tony has asked him how many photons there are in a kilogram of steel. “You were upset when you left last night.”

“You mean I was an ass.”

“No,” Steve says, drawing the word out. “I meant what I said: you were upset. Seemed almost like you were scared.”

Tony’s hackles go up. “Well, I wasn’t,” he snaps. “And you can keep your opinions about my relationship with Ty to yourself, all right?”

Steve’s eyebrows go up slightly, but his gaze is steady and his voice calm when he says, “I never said a word about him, Tony.”

That’s true, Tony realizes when he replays it in his head. Shit. He works his jaw to the side, rubs his throbbing head. “Sorry. My friends have–whatever.”

Steve adjusts his grip on the box, seeming to study Tony carefully. Tony can almost see the process of him coming to some kind of resolve playing over his face.

“What?”

“You said your relationship with Tiberius is open before, is that still true?”

Wary, Tony says, “Yeah.”

Steve tips his chin up, spine straightening. “Then…would you like to go on a date with me?”


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> warning: previous emotional abuse in this part, alcohol abuse

The question catches Tony by surprise; he is, for once, at a total loss for words.

His silence saps some of Steve’s determination and he shrinks back a little. I’m sorry. You had a bad night, I shouldn’t put that on you now—”

“You’re serious?” Tony says.

Steve’s jaw firms and he nods. “I am.”

Tony doesn’t get it.

“Why?”

That seems to throw Steve. He shrugs. “Why does anyone step out? I think you’re a good-looking fella who’s kind and interesting to talk to.”

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

The box shifts in Steve’s hands. “I dunno actually. I don’t do this much. I hear coffee’s popular? Buck would drag you out to the World’s Fair.”

“Hasn’t been one in the US for a long time,” Tony points out, inanely.

Steve half-smiles. “Buck was always better at this than me.”

“Maybe I should date him.”

Steve laughs. “Might be a better idea, honestly. He’d know what he was doing.” Then he looks at Tony; his eyes are crazy blue. “But I’d rather you didn’t.”

Tony swallows.

He wants to, badly. Steve makes him feel good. Smart and attractive, like he can actually make the future better. It’s intoxicating. And Ty opened their relationship so there’s no reason _not_ to.

“Okay,” he agrees and warmth washes through him at the way Steve’s face lights up.

“Okay,” Steve agrees, grinning at him. Then he ducks forward, shifting the box easily in his grasp, and brushes a dry kiss on Tony’s cheek.

On autopilot, Tony reaches up to touch the lingering sensation of Steve’s lips on his face and smacks himself with the coffee cup in his hand. His head throbs and he groans out an _ow_ , but the reminder of how shitty he feels doesn’t dim his happiness at all.

“Jeez, Tony,” Steve says and sets the box down at his feet before reaching to cup Tony’s face in his hand. Tony’s heart beats a little faster.

“You gonna kiss it better?”

He means it as a joke, but Steve, who’s inspecting the aching spot on his cheek, meets his gaze and says simply, “Okay.”

He leans in again, seemingly in slow motion, and presses a feather light kiss over the spot. He lingers this time and it feels like Tony’s heart is beating in his throat when Steve finally pulls back.

Steve smiles shyly as he drops back onto his heels. That’s when Tony realizes he’s still in the elevator.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, staring at his feet.

Steve glances down, too. “JARVIS said to stay in the elevator.”

“Wow, and you’re taking it that literally. Would you have stood on your head if he told you to?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “That’s not a request to respect someone’s personal space.” Then, with a look like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, he asks, “Would that impress you?”

A laugh bursts out of Tony. “Why, can you?”

That’s how he ends up standing there laughing so hard it makes his head feel like it’s splitting down the middle while Steve does a headstand in the middle of the elevator.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here
> 
> warning: emotional abuse

Things don’t immediately change between them, which is weird.

Normally there’s kissing. And sex. Lots of it.

Although, Tony’s not sure anyone’s ever asked him out, not the way Steve did.

Dating Steve is almost exactly like being friends with Steve, except now he kisses Tony’s cheek and tells him things like, “Wow, you look great in that jacket, Tony,” and, “The way your legs look in those jeans makes my fingers itch.”

It’s a little jarring, especially when compared with Tiberius’ comments. Tony can’t even count how many times Tiberius has told him what a great ass he has, but he also says things like, “Your hair is getting shaggy. It looks stupid, get it cut.”

Steve’s only comment is, “Your hair is getting long.” Then he reaches up and combs it back out of Tony’s eyes with his fingers, his smile soft. Tony shivers all the way down to the tips of his toes.

Maybe Steve’s just on his best behavior. Honeymoon period kind of thing. Tony decides not to take his compliments without a grain of salt.

They still make him feel good.

On their third date, they go to the Guggenheim for a special gallery opening—the artist is a woman who does hyperrealistic paintings of the half-deconstructed insides of electronics she’s taken apart. It’s the perfect mashup of their interests. Steve gets to talk about art history and where hyperrealism came from and what it means, while Tony gets to explain what it is they’re looking at and what it does and together they’re able to pick apart the art in ways they couldn’t alone. Tony is not an art guy and he has fun.

One of the paintings is of the slightly-dented insides of a Stark Phone. “This is kind of fascinating,” Tony says when he’s finished describing all the visible parts for Steve. “It looks like maybe she pried it open with a ruler? Why? There’s a catch-release on the side—”

Steve, whose presence has been noticeable all night (granted it’s always noticeable, he’s a big guy), is radiating warmth up the length of Tony’s right arm with his proximity.

Then Tony nearly swallows his tongue when Steve’s hand brushes against his. He freezes, staring straight ahead at the motherboard with a partially visible Stark Industries logo.

“Go on,” Steve urges, and Tony feels Steve’s pinky finger curl around his own. Tony’s hand closes automatically, his fingers curling tight around the one of Steve’s.

His heart drops with a _plop_ back into the pit of his stomach and somehow, he manages to breathe. “I, uh—right, there’s, um. There’s a catch-release on the side of the case to…to provide easy-access for people who want to repair them. So…”

Tony has no idea what he talks about for the next five minutes; all he can think about is the warmth of Steve’s hand against his, and that slender digit tucked between his fingers.

Later, Tony threads his fingers with Ty’s because he can’t remember the last time they held hands. Ty gives him an amused look. “Are we pre-teens?”

Tony shrugs, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s just nice. You don’t think so?”

Ty laughs and loosens their fingers so he can hook his arm around Tony’s shoulders and pull him close. “I think you’re a sap.”

“Wow,” Tony says in mock-affront. “That is―you take that back Tiberius Stone. That’s libel. I’ll press charges.”

Tiberius’ laughter rings through the room. Tony grins, pleased.

A few days later he repeats Tiberius’ line, “Are we pre-teens?” when Steve takes his hand and Steve gives him a doleful look.

“You don’t like it?”

Tony blinks, surprised. “No, of course I do.” He clutches Steve’s hand a little tighter and Steve’s sad expression melts into a smile.

“Oh, you were teasing? Sometimes I swear it feels like I was born in a different century.”

“Yeah,” Tony murmurs. Maybe he and Steve are both saps.

Juggling two boyfriends, and SI, and the work on the Iron Man suit tests even Tony’s abilities. Ashton, the PA who replaced Pepper when she became CEO, is certainly having their scheduling skills tested.

Tony gets a sharp, startled look from Pepper one afternoon when she leans over Ashton’s shoulder alongside Tony and sees that he can’t do a six o'clock dinner meeting because he’s scheduled to go see a show with Steve. Or maybe it’s because he’s got a date to meet Tiberius for breakfast the very next morning. He braces himself for whatever she has to say, but she just thins her mouth and points to an appointment with marketing on Tuesday. “Can this be pushed?”

Tony lets out the breath he was holding. “Sure.”

It’s raining Wednesday when he picks up Steve for the show, but Steve’s prepared. He has a massive umbrella that he opens with one smooth motion as he exits the car—without tripping on the rain-slicked curb—and he holds it over the door as Tony climbs out, his other hand grasping Tony’s forearm. “Careful, there’s a puddle here,” he says and directs Tony around it with a hand on his waist.

Tony’s had bodyguards that made him feel less looked after.

When the show is over, they stand on the curb waiting for Happy tucked together under the umbrella again. His whole world is Steve’s exuberant expression, his flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and the warmth of his body, and the sound of his voice backed by the patter of the rain. Tony sends Happy around the block a few more times just because he wants to linger here in this moment.

He’s not sure if it’s the lingering in the rain, or if it’s the total lack of sleep he gets in the ensuing three days, but Tony’s throat starts scratching during a meeting with prospective suppliers and by dinner he’s sniffling and his skin aches over every inch of his body.

Tiberius is there when he gets back to the penthouse and Tony collapses pathetically face-first into his lap. “I think I'mb coming down wib something,” he says. Then he sneezes on Tiberius’ knees.

“What the hell, Tony?” Tiberius demands, disgust thick in his voice. “So you want _me_ to get sick, too? I have a company to run.”

He dumps Tony unceremoniously onto the floor.

“Call me when you’re feeling better.”

So much for TLC.

Tony staggers his way to the bedroom, sneezing and coughing in turns, and he strips out of his suit. He leaves it lying on the foot of the bed because he feels like shit and putting it away where it should go seems like too much effort. Shivering, he crawls up the bed and wrestles his way under the covers.

He manages a restless few hours of sleep before the congestion wakes him. His throat feels like it’s on fire. Under the blankets, something other than the reactor is glowing, and he paws around clumsily for a minute before coming up with his phone.

Steve is texting him.

 

 **STEVE  
** What is the load bearing weight of a steel girder that’s been cracked halfway through?

 

Tony huffs out a laugh that dissolves into a coughing fit. Steve asks some interesting, if random, questions. Tony taps out an answer and is so exhausted by the process that he ends up dozing for awhile longer. When he fades back in he has three more texts from Steve and it’s a half an hour later.

 

 **STEVE  
** And if you stood it up sideways so the crack’s compressed?

 

 **STEVE  
** Tony?

 

 **STEVE  
** Hey, are you okay?

 

 _Fell asleep_ , Tony texts back. He’s zoning out to the glow of the screen when Steve replies.

 

 **STEVE  
** Oh no, I didn’t mean to wake you up. :(

 

 _it s ok,_ Tony replies. _not real sleep. came down w something_

 

 **STEVE  
** Even worse. Do you have anything to eat?

 

 **STEVE  
** I mean of course you have things to eat. Obviously.

 

Tony snorts. _Im sure there’s something around here somewhere, but im not getting out of bed to get it._

 

**STEVE**

You’re alone? I’ll bring you some of Eliot’s chicken noodle soup.

 

Tony thinks about protesting, but he’s tired and pretty miserable. Just the thought of Steve sitting on the edge of the bed for five minutes to check on him cheers him up. _U sure?_

 

 **STEVE  
** Absolutely. On my way.

 

“J, let ‘im in when he gets here,” Tony mumbles and then falls asleep again.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by pixieknight10805’s post here

Tony wakes up to the bed shifting under him. His face feels hot, but he’s shivering even with the blanket he can feel wrapped around him, pinning his arms.

“Tony?”

“Lemme alone,” he mumbles, shrinking into the blanket. “’m tired.”

“I know,” the voice says—Steve his subconscious provides—and Tony feels gentle fingers brushing his hair back. A cool palm presses against his forehead and Tony groans weakly. “Wow, Tony, you’re burning up.”

“’m fine, j’st lemme sleep.”

“Sir’s temperature is 103 degrees Farenheit,” JARVIS says and Tony is dimly aware of Steve startling, his fingers clenching around the blanket at Tony’s shoulder.

Tony considers explaining, but he’s tired and breathing is taking what little energy he has.

“That’s awfully high,” Steve says and Tony feels the cool backs of Steve’s fingers on his forehead again. If he didn’t feel so miserable, it would be nice. “Maybe I should take him to see a doctor.”

Tony whines, intending to protest that, no, really, he just needs to sleep, but he starts coughing instead and it escalates until he’s gasping for breath between coughs.

Everything moves abruptly and it takes Tony a minute to figure out that Steve hauled him upright, and he’s resting against Steve’s chest. It doesn’t help the coughing, but it makes it easier to breathe.

From there Tony loses track of what’s going on for awhile.

When he tunes back in, he’s still lying propped up on Steve’s chest and there’s someone else leaning over them.

“Steve?” he mumbles, shrinking back from the stranger.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Steve assures him. “JARVIS called a doctor to come see you.”

There’s something on his face. Tony reaches up to get rid of it, but gets stopped by Steve’s hand covering his and pressing it gently back down.

“You’ve got an oxygen mask on,” Steve explains, “the doctor says you have reduced lung capacity and a respiratory infection that’s making it more difficult for you to get oxygen.”

Tony groans.

The two of them start talking over his head and it’s like Tony’s brain can’t process two voices at once because it turns into a wash of noise. He zones out.

Some time later, Steve nudges his arm to rouse him and gently pulls the oxygen mask down. “Take this and drink a little of this, Tony.”

Steve hands him a large white pill. Tony grimaces as he gracelessly gets it in his mouth and swallows it. It feels like a rock sliding down his throat.

The glass is cool and makes Tony shiver, but he manages to drink a few swallows and gets rid of the rock sensation. He’s breathing heavily by the time he pulls away and Steve lifts the mask back into place quickly.

“Okay,” Steve says, brushing the sweaty hair off of Tony’s forehead. “Lie back and try to rest.”

Tony doesn’t have to be asked twice.

–

When Tony wakes up it doesn't feel like his brain is made of old sponge anymore.

He opens his eyes slowly. All of the windows are blacked out except the one at the far end of the room, which looks like it's at maybe 20% opacity. It's definitely daytime.

He coughs, the heap of pillows keeping him upright helping support him through it. The oxygen mask itches and he wants to take it off, but there's a heaviness in his chest that he knows indicates it wouldn't be a good idea.

"Good morning, sir," JARVIS says, voice low. "It is currently forty-seven degrees and partly cloudy. The time is 10:42AM."

Tony is debating whether or not he wants to ignore his bladder or possibly go back to sleep when the door cracks open.

To his surprise, Steve pokes his head inside.

"Hey," he says, "JARVIS said you were awake. How are you feeling?"

"I've felt better," Tony admits, "but less terrible than I did." He rubs at his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Steve stares at him incredulously as he sits on the edge of the bed, exactly how Tony had imagined he would. "Tony, I came by and you had a terrible fever and you were only following half of the conversations I had with you. I wasn't about to leave you here alone like that."

"I would have survived."

Steve rolls his eyes. "I don't doubt that. Just because you can do it alone doesn't mean you should have to. The doctor said you have bronchitis."

Tony nods, already tired again. "Sounds about right."

"She also said you have decreased lung capacity because of—” He gestures to the arc reactor.

"Mm."

"She said if you start to have trouble breathing again you need to go to a hospital.”

Tony snorts. “I didn't even go to a hospital when I got back from Afghanistan, Steve. I'm not going now.”

Steve is quiet and Tony grimaces. That was oversharing.

After a minute, Steve says carefully, “I'd prefer it if you let a professional look after you, but I understand why you might not want to.”

Tony doesn't really know what to say to that. “Thanks?”

Steve huffs and he's smiling, but there's something sort of sad about it. He puts his hand on Tony's knee and looks up to meet his gaze. “Are you hungry?”

“Not especially,” Tony says.

“Will you try to put down a little soup?” Steve asks.

“Sure. But only because you're cute,” Tony tells him.

Steve smiles crookedly and ducks forward, pressing a kiss to Tony's forehead. “I'll be right back.”

Tony squints, “Hang on, did you tell—”

Pepper bursts through the door. “Oh my god, Tony!”

“Yes, you did. Hi, Pep.”

She rushes over, her eyes darting over him and taking in what is probably not a pretty picture. The blankets are twisted, he's wearing an oxygen mask, and he can feel the residue of sweat on his skin. “Tony, oh god.”

He reaches out with one hand and she immediately grasps it, cupping it between hers. “I'm fine, Pepper. It's just a little respiratory infection.”

“Just a little, honestly, Tony,” she says, exasperation thick in her voice. She turns on her hip to look at Steve. “JARVIS said you were here all night.”

The look on Steve's face goes a little deer-in-the-headlights. “Um. Yes, ma'am.”

“Thank you,” she tells him fervently.

Steve blinks, clearly confused. “You're welcome?”

She looks him over and Tony can see her putting together who he is. She glances back at Tony and he raises his eyebrows. “It's good to know Tony has friends like you,” she says, “That's all.”


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda floundering around again lol
> 
> thanks to windscryer for writing the section marked by asterisks

Steve leaves them to have a few minutes alone while he goes to warm up some of Eliot's soup.

The penthouse where Tony lives is like something out of another world. It's sparse, perfect to frame the stunning view of the city and the arches of the Chrysler building that dominates the left side of the horizon. Steve hadn't slept, wanting to drink in the city at this angle for as long as he was able. He's already mapping out a drawing in his head.

What parts of the penthouse that are furnished are shiny in shades of dark gray and silver. Everything is sleek and sharp and good-looking—just like Tony.

JARVIS, the computer that screened Steve when he arrived, is present and available here, too. “Where are the pans, JARVIS?” Steve asks.

“The lower cabinet to the left of the oven.”

*“Thanks,” Steve says, crouching down. A matching set of shiny silver pots on various sizes are stacked neatly on the shelves and he wonders for a moment if they've ever been used before or if they're just meticulously shined for effect. Regardless, there's a two quart pot with a lid that will serve his purposes and he fishes it out and straightens.

The side of the tub has blocky capital print detailing the reheating instructions, with a few smaller additions crossed out with a decisively thick line in between. Steve skims them and then pours the soup into the pot and sets it on the stove. There are no knobs or dials or even just up and down arrows like on Sam's stove. Steve weighs looking like an idiot against attempting to work the microwave. With a shake of his head, he asks, “JARVIS, how do I turn this on?”

“What temperature would you like, Mr. Rogers?”

“Medium high is fine, thanks.”

There's no discernible change except for a red light on the stove's display, but Steve assumes it's working.

He waits for a count of one hundred then gives the soup a gentle stir, watching the noodles, chicken chunks, and carrot slices swirl through a broth peppered with bits of herbs and tiny green onion rings. His wrist twinges when he rotates it, but he smothers a grimace and just switches hands. The break has healed cleanly and he'd taken the brace off before coming, but it had been a nasty one and the underlying damage hasn't entirely smoothed over even now.

Bucky had, of course, called him ten kinds of stupid for insisting on visiting before he was healed, and had told him he deserved it if his wrist was permanently fucked up. Which was just Bucky's way of saying he cared, because they both knew that wasn't possible anymore.

But he couldn't _not_ come when Tony had said he was sick. That would make him a terrible friend, let alone a boyfriend.

His lips curve up involuntarily at the thought. He has a boyfriend. And not just anyone but Tony, who was just… really great.

“You know, when Tony first told me that he and Ty were opening their relationship, I had mixed feelings.”

Steve is friends with Natasha Romanoff and a post-HYDRA Bucky Barnes so he isn't startled, exactly, but she still takes him by surprise with that opener.

“Tony's life is complicated in the way that it often is when it's lived in the public eye. On the other hand, since he's met you Tony has been… different.”

Steve stirs the soup, then removes the spoon, tapping it on the side of the pot before setting it aside. He turns to lean against the counter and tries to stay relaxed, but can't entirely override the need to cross his arms over his chest. “Good different or bad different?”

Pepper's lips twitch and she tilts her head to look him over consideringly before she answers. “Very good. He reminds me more of the man who charmed me out of a position in the accounting department of a Fortune 500 company for a job as his personal assistant. My mother was thrilled,” she says dryly, “as I'm sure you can imagine.”

Steve huffs a laugh and nods. “I can, yeah,” he agrees.*

“What have you done that thrills your mother?” Pepper asks and Steve's shoulders hunch, fingers tightening around his biceps. Pepper's gaze is piercing and he can feel himself start to sweat. God, he's still useless when faced with a pretty person and a no-nonsense attitude.

“I can think of a few things,” he replies, but manages not to elaborate.

Pepper eyes him speculatively. “I'm sure you can. Anything that might hurt Tony?”

“In as much as I can tell, no.” Steve feels a little more sure-footed when he says, “Miss Potts, does Tony know you're out here giving me the what-for, right now? I think he can handle himself.”

Pepper snorts in a very un-lady-like way and rolls her eyes. It reminds him powerfully of Peggy and his chest twinges. “He can,” Pepper says, “but from what Rhodey tells me you're aware enough of the situation with Tiberius to understand that when it comes to personal relationships that is _not_ the case.”

Steve gives her a sharp look. “You know that there's something wrong.”

A lot of people get nervous when Steve looks at them like that, but Pepper is utterly unfazed. “I was Tony's PA for ten years. Of course I know there's something wrong.”

Steve can't help the accusation that creeps into his tone. “And you haven't done anything about it?”

Pepper's mouth thins. “What, exactly, would you have me do? Why haven't _you_ done anything about it?”

Shame rolls in a hot wave up the back of Steve's neck.

“Tony is a grown man and he can make whatever choices he likes with his life, even if I think they're stupid beyond the pale.”

“You're right,” Steve says, holding his hands out in front of him in surrender. “It's Tony's life and they're his choices to make. And trying to force him to do anything would be just as bad. I'm sorry.” He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “He's so smart, why can't he see how awful Tiberius is? I haven't even _met_ the guy and...” Steve shakes his head.

Pepper clasps her elbows, arms pulled tight against her stomach. “Tiberius was Tony's childhood friend. They were inseparable growing up. I'm not positive, but I think Tiberius was Tony's first boyfriend, if not his first anything. They lost contact in their twenties after Tony's parents passed. When they reconnected two years ago Tony—Tony was in a bad place. He had just come back from Afghanistan and unbeknownst to Rhodey and myself, he was dying. Slowly, poisoned by that thing in his chest.”

Steve's heart sticks in his throat. “He was vulnerable.”

Pepper smiles wanly. “He was being erratic—giving away assets we'd spent years building up, declaring me CEO, getting drunk and flying around in the suit—he was pushing Rhodey and me away because—I don't know. Because he thought it would hurt us less when he died?” Pepper closes overbright eyes and rubs her forehead. Sniffs once. “Anyway, we weren't there for him and Tiberius showed up and _was_ and the rest is history.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve says, feeling lousier by the minute for essentially accusing her of not caring. “That sounds—unbearable.”

“It wasn't a good year,” Pepper says, smiling wryly.

“Explains a lot though,” Steve says. “I wasn't doing so well myself a couple years ago. I suppose if the wrong person had come along things could have turned out a lot differently.”

He falls quiet, imagining if Bucky had come back and had treated him the way Tiberius treats Tony. He'd been so glad to have Bucky back in any capacity that he probably would have ignored any warning signs. It's a sobering realization.

Steve frowns, chewing his lip. The soup is starting to grow fragrant, curls of steam spiraling upward from the pot, so he turns and stirs it. “JARVIS, I think you can turn the heat off now.”

Pepper pulls a bowl out of one of the cabinets for him and he thanks her, carefully transferring the soup from the pan to the bowl. He curves his hands around it when it's full, his stomach turning anxiously. “What can we do? It seems wrong to just stand by while someone treats him like that.”

“I think we're doing everything we can,” Pepper admits with a sigh. “Trying to point it out when Tiberius does something unacceptable and being supportive. Unfortunately, it's something Tony has to realize himself. I know from experience pushing will only make him dig in his heels.”

Steve nods. “Well, you can count on me for anything you need. Tony's a good man. He deserves to be happy—to be treated well.”

Pepper smiles and reaches over to squeeze his forearm. “You're a man after my own heart Steve.”

He smiles shyly and they're turning as one to return to the bedroom with the hot soup when Tony stumbles through the door. He's disheveled, hair flat on one side and sticking up on the other and his face is marked from the oxygen mask, cheeks darkened with stubble. He's clinging to the wall, expression wild. “You have to go,” he gasps.

Steve is lucky he doesn't have to choose between the soup and Tony, because Tony staggers out toward them and wobbles dangerously before Steve grabs him by the elbow and helps shore him up. Tony tugs at his sleeve, grabbing for Pepper's arm as well.

“You have to _go._ NOW,” he demands and then breaks into a coughing fit.

“Tony, what's going on?” Pepper asks.

“Ty's coming up and I don't want him to see you here. Go, dammit.”

“Please follow the indicator lights in the wall,” JARVIS intones and despite his bewilderment, Steve hands the soup over and allows himself to be herded out with Pepper.

A moment later they're in a stairwell, an automatic door sealing the way into the penthouse shut behind them.

Pepper sighs and slumps back against the wall, giving Steve a look. “I hope you're in this for the long haul Steve.”

Steve squares his jaw. “I'm in it for as long as Tony'll have me.”

That drags a smile out of her. “Come on, I'll show you out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is exceptionally helpful!


	50. Chapter 50

Tony mumbles an apology to Steve later for literally shoving him out the door.

“Thank you,” Steve says. “I appreciate it.” He looks sincere, and Tony's not entirely sure what to do with that. Then Steve glances down at his hands and the video freezes for a split second before syncing back up. Steve's internet must be terrible, Tony notes dimly. “Ah, there is one thing I wanted to talk about though,” Steve says, staring at his hands.

Tony's heart jumps into his throat. “What's that?” he croaks.

Steve sits back in his chair, reaching up to rub at the back of his head. “Well. See, I did some reading about polyamory after you mentioned it way back when. I didn't know what it was. And everything I read said all the partners should be aware of each other and that everything should get talked about.” Steve sighs and looks up into the camera. “I know I messed things up. I asked you out before we had a chance to talk to Tiberius and that's my fault. I shouldn't have put you in that position.”

“Wait, you're not mad at me?” Tony blurts.

Steve frowns, a small furrow appearing between his brows. “No? Why would I be?”

Tony licks his lips and tries to play it cool. “No reason.” Then he halts completely. “Hang on, you want to talk to Tiberius?”

Steve gives him a puzzled look that smooths out after a moment. “Tony, did you read up on polyamory after you and Tiberius opened your relationship?”

Tony frowns. “No. I didn't intend to take part so I didn't exactly think I needed to—”

“Whoa,” Steve says, raising his hands in surrender. “Tony, I'm not accusing you of anything.”

“Oh.” Tony's neck flushes and he relaxes somewhat. “I— No. I didn't. I didn't think I'd need to. It was Tiberius' idea to open the relationship in the first place.”

Steve's eyebrows go up. “That...explains a lot, actually.”

Tony instinctively straightens his spine and tilts his chin up as a wave of defensiveness goes through him. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It's not a criticism.” Steve leans forward to put his elbows on the desk where he's got his phone propped up, his expression thoughtful. “I thought you knew more about this than I do is all.”

Not knowing something someone expected him to is not a feeling Tony likes.

“Okay,” Steve says, and Tony can hear the I've Got a Plan in every syllable. “We need to sit down and talk with Tiberius. Together.”

Tony's heart rate spikes. “What? Why?”

“Because in a polyamorous relationship it's important for all the partners to set expectations and we can't do that unless we all sit down together and talk.”

“Tiberius doesn't want to talk about it. The _last_ thing Tiberius wants to do is talk about it. The only reason he talks about it is to brag about his latest conquest.”

Steve cringes and Tony's mouth sours.

“I could have phrased that better,” he says, covering his face with his hands.

“No,” Steve says, clearly still regaining his feet, “it's fine. If that's how your relationship is; okay.” Steve clears his throat. “I'm. I'm looking for something a little more traditional though. I don't mind you being with Tiberius. But I'd rather it just be me and him, if it's all the same to you.”

Tony can't believe what he's hearing. “I can… I can do that.”

Steve looks up at the camera, a shy, pleased smile spreading across his face. “Yeah?”

Tony grins back and he can feel how silly it is. He doesn't care. “Yeah.”

–

The drum of the rain on the windows of Steve's studio made it easy to slip into an easy productivity and he startles when someone knocks on the door. He glances over the piece in front of him, surprised by how much more of it there is than there was when he looked at the bigger picture last. Then he looks at the clock and stands up abruptly. “Shit.”

That's his three o'clock at the door.

He quickly wipes his hands on his pants, smearing streaks of pastels across his thighs, and rushes to the door. “Hi Mr. Sloane, it's nice to—”

Steve's gaze reaches the man's face and his mouth stops, hanging open.

Tiberius Stone grins at him. “I guess you recognize me. I'm sorry for not giving you my real name, but I like my privacy.”

Steve shakes himself and finishes reaching out to shake Tiberius' hand. “Yes, sir, I understand. I apologize for my rudeness.”

Tiberius waves a hand. “I'd be more offended if you didn't recognize me.”

Steve doesn't think he'd feel that way if he knew _why_ Steve recognized him. For a second, Steve flounders, totally thrown off.

“Are you still willing to do the work for me?” Tiberius asks, turning back and giving him a curious look.

“Yes!” Steve blurts. “Yes, absolutely. Can I get you a drink? You can sit down there if you like.” Steve points at the slightly rickety wooden desk chair near his drying rack.

“What do you have?” Tiberius asks, unbuttoning his coat and tugging his pants up an inch as he sits. He's wearing green socks with robots on them. Steve's seen Tony wear brightly colored socks with funny patterns on them before. Are those Tony's?

“Water or Coke, coffee?”

“Water's fine.”

Steve's head is whirling as he goes to the fridge tucked away in the back. Is it just a coincidence that Tiberius is here? What does he want? Should he give Tiberius a piece of his mind?

“Shall we get straight down to business?” Tiberius asks when Steve returns with a bottle for him.

For once, Steve decides to keep his temper.

“Yes, sir. What is it you're looking to get?”

Tiberius pulls out his phone and leans toward Steve, turning the display for him to see. “Do you have any experience drawing machinery?”

In a drawer behind Tiberius, there's an entire sketchbook he's filled with doodles of Iron Man and the bits and pieces of machinery and other technology he's been getting acquainted with since meeting Tony.

“Yes,” he says.

Tiberius smiles. He has straight, white teeth and there's a slight crookedness to his smile that Steve can see people finding endearing. “Fantastic. If you can believe it, my partner has a love affair with machinery that he's more invested in than the one he has with me. I wanted to get him something to hang in his office that suits him better than the piece his PA picked out.”

Steve isn't sure if he should point out that “she” goes by “they”, actually, or that “she” is the CEO, not Tony's PA, so he keeps his mouth shut. “What's the occasion?” he asks instead.

Tiberius shrugs. “No occasion.”

“A just-because gift,” Steve says, surprised.

“Exactly,” Tiberius says, looking pleased with himself.

“Okay,” Steve says, mustering up a smile. “I can definitely help you with that.”


	51. Chapter 51

After Tiberius leaves, Steve debates for nearly a half-hour over whether or not he should tell Tony.

On the one hand, he's pretty sure Tony would want to know. On the other, Tiberius is trying to do something nice as a surprise for Tony and he doesn't want to be a jerk about it. Tony really will love the piece Tiberius wants him to make.

In the end, he decides to tell Tony everything except the exact purpose of the piece Tiberius asked for.

“You know, this is wild,” Tony says when he picks up. “I was literally _just_ thinking about you.”

Steve smiles automatically, his chest warming. “Good things, I hope.”

“'spose that depends on your definition of 'good',” Tony replies, voice heavy with innuendo. Steve shivers.

“Um. Hey, I was actually calling because something weird just happened.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony says with interest.

“Yeah. I don't know if I mentioned I had an appointment with a client today—”

“You did.” Something clinks in the background and Tony's voice sounds a little further away when he says, “Said they wanted to commission something? Was it something good? Did they commission porn? _My Little Pony?_ ”

“No,” Steve says, hesitating, “the subject isn't all that unusual. But.” He takes a deep breath. “It was Tiberius, Tony.”

Something heavy and metallic hits the ground with a godawful noise.

“ _What?_ ”

Steve grimaces. “Yeah. I didn't realize until I saw him. He used a fake name when he made the appointment.”

“Schone? Or Sloane.” Tony sounds like he's not entirely aware he's talking, like he's on the verge of panic.

“Sloane.”

“That's his favorite,” Tony mutters. Then he takes an unsteady breath. “What did he want? Did he ask you questions? Do you think he—do you think he knows that we're—”

Steve wishes he could assure Tony that he didn't. “I don't know,” he says honestly. “I'm not that good at picking up on that kind of thing, it's more Natasha's deal. He didn't say anything that made me think he knew though. He just asked about what I could do. He was all business. Straight and to the point.”

“Ty's impatient. He doesn't waste time.”

“I can see that,” Steve says carefully.

Tony breathes in deeply again. It's unnerving to see him thrown so far off balance by this. They aren't doing anything wrong as far as Steve knows, so it seems like an awfully strong reaction.

“Tony,” he says, and tries to phrase his question as delicately as possible, “were you maybe not entirely honest when you told me your relationship with Tiberius was open?”

There's a beat of icy silence, then Tony says coldly, “I'm not an adulterer, Steve.”

Steve winces. “I'm sorry,” he says immediately. “I'm sorry you've never lied to me I shouldn't have— It's just, if your relationship is open, we're not doing anything wrong.”

Tony sighs. “Shit, you're right. Sorry. Sorry, Steve, I shouldn't have jumped down your throat.”

“It's okay. I won't lie, I thought he was there to kick my ass.”

Tony laughs tiredly. “It just feels wrong. Being...with both of you. Thanks for the brainwashing, society.”

“I just wanted you to know, since you wanted to keep the two relationships separate. I didn't say anything to him though.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, voice soft and a little bit...touched, almost.

“I'm following your lead on this one, Tony.”

“That's...thanks, Steve.”

Steve makes sure to tell Tony a couple weeks later when Tiberius stops by the studio again to take a look at the draft of the picture he asked for. When he sees an opening, Steve casually asks where Tiberius found him. Tiberius pulls out his phone and shows Steve his own website. “You were the most convenient,” he says. Then he grins. “I was lucky you know what you're doing.”

Steve isn't entirely sure if he should be flattered or offended.

–

“You have seven baby mamas and you've skipped your child support since 1999 and you're living under a false identity to avoid going to jail,” Tony tries as he places his third settlement on the Settlers of Catan game board. He's not sure why Steve and his friends keep playing it with him—even with a handicap he keeps ruining them. And he knows it makes Steve nuts because he gets this tic in his jaw and a permanent crease between his eyes every time Tony gets a point.

Sam snorts and Bucky splutters and starts choking on laughter. Tony doesn't even bother biting back his delighted grin. Making Bucky laugh is no mean feat.

Steve shoves him with an expression of good-natured annoyed-amusement that briefly blots out his frustration with Tony's industry genius. “No. You have to take someone to bed to make a baby,” he says, like that's not _completely brain-breaking_.

“If he was gonna be thrown in jail it wouldn't be for that,” Sam agrees dryly and Bucky mutters something about _fuckin' fisticuffs_ darkly under his breath.

“Are you telling me you've never gotten nasty with anyone,” Tony says incredulously, because it's kind of a sticking point for him.

Steve glances up at him, expression placid. He shrugs. “Things've never quite lined up right for me.”

Tony gives him a very pointed up-and-down look. “The line would wrap around _Manhattan_ for you.”

Discomfort sneaks onto Steve's face, along with a blush. “I'm not interested in rolling around with just anyone.”

Tony's heart trips and does a barrel roll into the arc reactor. _Holy shit._

Steve wants his first time to be special. Steve wants his first time to be with _Tony._

_Steve thinks Tony is special enough for his special first time._

“Oh,” Tony croaks.

The thought distracts him so much that he fails to make a few key moves and Bucky ends up pulling out a win. “Jesus tap-dancing Christ,” Steve complains, slapping his cards down on the carpet. “Every motherfucking _time._ ”

Bucky cackles.

“Better luck next time,” Tony murmurs and he sounds strange, he knows, because Steve gives him a worried look.

Tony just ignores it and tries to shake off the strange, nervous sensation building in his chest. It's not easy though, not when it feels like he's been hit with another of his own missiles.

He's distracted while they put the game away and he's distracted when they make lunch and he's still distracted when they eat lunch. Sam beans him in the nose with a potato chip. “Earth to Tony, come in Tony.”

“What?” he blurts, and puts his elbow down in his own chips.

“Wow, man,” Sam says, eyebrows raised.

Steve wipes his mouth with his napkin and gestures toward the kitchen. “Tony, can I have a second?”

Tony's stomach settles low in his gut, the few bites of sandwich that he'd managed to take sitting like lead in the pit of his stomach. “Sure, I guess,” he mutters. He brushes the chips off his arm and follows well behind Steve, hoping to postpone whatever misery is coming a little while longer.

When he finally slinks into the kitchen, Steve takes one look at his face and says, “I'm not mad.”

Is he that transparent? That's embarrassing.

“Okay,” he says warily. “What's up?”

Steve shrugs and rubs at the back of his head, his eyes dropping to the floor. “It just seems like...I made you uncomfortable. When I said I wasn't interested in sleeping with just anyone.”

Tony's throat sticks and he swallows twice in rapid succession.

“Hey,” Steve says, gently taking him by the elbow, “I didn't mean to put any pressure on you. I'm not expecting anything from you. If we don't ever, that's okay.”

Tony stares at him, hoping Steve can't feel how fast his pulse is racing. “But you want to. For the first time. With me.”

Steve ducks his head, but not soon enough to hide the bright red blush that races across his face. “Yeah, that's— That's something I want.”

“You haven't made a single move since you asked me out,” Tony points out, and there might be a touch of resentment in his voice.

Steve grimaces. “I can see how that might be misleading.” He sighs. “I just want to go at whatever pace you're comfortable with, Tony. I don't want to push my luck. But I maybe should have been more upfront about that and how I'm feeling. So here it is for you: I think you're a knockout. I want to hold hands, cuddle, kiss, and have sex with you if that's something you want. But I want you to decide when it's okay with _you_. I know all the secrecy around my job makes you wary, and you're right to be wary of someone who won't be forthright with you. But that's something I've gotta do, so it's a hundred percent up to you how far we go and how fast we go there, if at all. Okay?”

“No pressure,” Tony mutters and Steve looks distraught.

“I don't want there to be.”

“I mean, you're a virgin, that's a hell of a thing to be put in charge of.”

“From what I've heard first-timers are pretty easy to please,” Steve mutters wryly and Tony laughs despite himself.

“Okay, that's a fair point.” He drags the patch of hair under his lip through his teeth. “Okay.” Eyeing his cuticles for flaws, Tony says, “In the interest of communication, I want all of that, too. With you. At some point.” He takes a deep breath and then admits, “Just, maybe not now. At least not the last two things.”

He doesn't realize he's holding his breath until Steve says easily, “Okay. Would a hug be out of line?”

“Shut up,” Tony grumbles and reaches out for him. It feels incredible when Steve slips his arms around Tony and hugs him tight. Steve kisses the side of his head and Tony clutches him a little bit tighter. “I don't even know what to do with you half the time,” he murmurs into Steve's shoulder. “Who has conversations like this? Tiberius sure as hell never stated his goddamn intentions.”

“I like it,” Steve murmurs back, his warm breath tickling Tony's ear. “Knowing where you stand.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, it has it's perks.


	52. Chapter 52

It's hysterical to say, but there are few cuter things Tony has ever seen than his enormous, muscled boyfriend clutching white-knuckled at the dashboards around the rink like the six-year-old three yards behind him.

Natasha has obviously had some practice, Clint is stomping around on all four wheels like he's wearing snowshoes and is making that work for him, and Thor has never done it before, but he's thrown himself into it like he can teach himself to skate via sheer willpower. He's somehow progressed to being able to skate around the rink once or twice before he crashes into anything. Crashing seems to be part of his method. Tony just hopes he doesn't end up in the East River. The rink is covered but has no walls, and since it's on the pier, it wouldn't be a long trip.

Steve, however, can't seem to bring himself to let go of the boards and as a result keeps getting his skates tangled up. Probably because he'd fallen exactly once, feet flying out from under him like a cartoon character. The noise he'd made when he hit the deck had stopped half the skaters in their tracks. Tony bets there's a spectacular bruise on his right asscheek.

Based on his expression, he's frustrated and embarrassed that he hasn't made more progress in the half hour they'd been on the rink.

“Okay,” Tony says, turning around to skate backwards just a foot or so in front of Steve. It makes Steve's expression darken for just a second. Tony licks his lips, nervous, and asks, “Can I give you a hand?”

Steve grimaces but says, “Please.”

Tony holds out his hands and Steve glances down at them, his expression dubious. “Come on, you trust me, right?”

That makes Steve's eyes soften. “Yeah.” His throat works as he swallows, then he unclenches his left hand from around the boards and reaches out to take Tony's hand. His grip is just shy of painful.

Tony waves the other hand encouragingly. “There you go, I've got you.”

He waits patiently and after a moment, Steve releases the boards with the other hand and grabs hold of his. Tony smiles at Steve, giving his hands a reassuring squeeze. “Great. That's perfect. Straighten out your feet for me?”

Steve looks down and manages to get his toes pointed forward, his hands flexing around Tony's. “Okay,” he says, apprehension evident. “Now what?”

“Now I'm going to skate and you're just going to let me do all the work,” Tony says. He pushes backward and Steve's eyes widen in alarm as they start moving together. His knees instinctively pinch together and Tony squeezes the hands clenched around his. “Relax. Don't fight it. Just let me do everything. All you have to do is keep holding on to my hands.”

After a minute or two of Tony compensating for the wobble Steve is causing, Steve manages to do just that. His knees relax and he stops trying to control their movement.

“I don't see what this is going to accomplish,” he says, watching the track roll by under their feet.

Tony grins at him. “We're working up to it. Plus I just want a minute to hold your hands.”

Steve slowly turns pink, a small, pleased smile creeping across his face. “Well, I can't argue with that I guess.”

“All right,” Tony says when they've glided along a few yards of the track. The curve is coming up. “What I want you to do now is pick one foot and push back with it.”

Steve starts to look down at his feet and Tony tugs on his hands. “Don't look at your feet, look at me.”

They wobble when Steve doesn't listen right away, but Tony steadies them and Steve reluctantly looks up and meets his gaze. He looks nervous as hell and Tony's half tempted to just drag him off the rink and wrap him up in a hug. Manfully, he resists and says, “On my cue, you're gonna push, okay?”

Steve gives one short, sharp nod.

“All right, push,” Tony orders.

Steve does and it gives them a little burst of acceleration.

“Now with the other foot.”

Steve does as he's asked, eyes fixed almost desperately on Tony's face.

“Good! Now do that again, one and then the other. Take it easy, we're in no rush.”

Again, Steve does as he's instructed. “Okay, this isn't so bad,” he says and then glances down at their feet. His footwork falters and he tenses. One skate skids to the side, tangling his wheels together and Tony isn't quite strong enough to hold them up. They both end up sprawled on the hardwood, legs tangled together and Tony breaks down laughing. Steve groans.

“Do you require assistance?” Thor calls from the other side of the rink and then cuts blithely right through the center, headed straight toward them. Steve and Tony are in no position to scramble out of his way and he ends up doing a sort of controlled fall right into them.

“I can't take you boys anywhere,” Natasha says as she skates past.

“Ow,” Steve groans. “Tony, I appreciate that you like this, but it is _terrible.”_

Tony laughs.

“I am finding it quite enjoyable,” Thor says, head resting on Steve's thigh. It just makes Tony giggle harder.

It takes both him and Thor to get Steve on his feet again.

“Do you want to try again?” Tony asks, “Or are you fed up?”

Steve is chewing his lip, debating the answer when something makes a shrill electronic noise and a blue blur goes shooting past them in a _woosh_ of cold air.

“What the hell—”

“Steve, look out!” Natasha yells.

Steve reacts, but not fast enough. The noise sounds again and a big, bluish burst of light hits Steve in the shoulder. He goes down, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat.

“Steve!” Tony shouts, and scrambles over to make sure Steve is all right even as his eyes dart around the rink.

Natasha comes to a stop by doing a controlled fall onto her ass, skidding the last few feet to where Tony is crouched over Steve.

A man in a blue and white get-up is gliding toward them on a path of ice he's laying out as he goes using what looks like a gun. It must have been what he hit Steve with, because there's a big chunk of ice wrapped around Steve's shoulder. Steve's face is milk-white, pupils blown wide.

“Shit,” Natasha says, her voice breathless with concern. “It's okay, Steve, listen to my voice, you're okay.” Tony activates the bracelets and whirls around to put himself between Steve and any other ice ray blasts.

“Where's Clint?” he demands of Natasha.

They're approximately 4.2 miles from the Tower and the bullet case can probably get up to 500 MPH in that distance which mean's he's got—maybe thirty seconds before it arrives.

Assuming it works.

“I told him to run,” Natasha says. “You should take Steve and—”

“Like hell,” Tony snarls. Another blast from the ice gun narrowly misses the back of Natasha's head.

Thor sweeps in front of them, and Tony remembers with a jolt that he's an Avenger. Okay. Okay, yeah, they're going to be fine. Thor can handle things until the suit gets here and then they'll get this guy hauled off wherever he needs to go to stop him from _shooting ice at people._

Other people have taken notice of Mr. Freeze and a sort of tentative hysteria is spreading as people start booking it.

The pitch rises, however, when Mr. Freeze calls, “Excuse me, _you're in my way,”_ and whammies Thor with the ice blaster until he's encased from the mid-thigh down. He roars furiously and pounds at the ice with his fists, only to have another blast pin them down just above his knees. The next shot stretches out over several long seconds as he covers the doorway onto the rink with a thick sheet of ice, trapping everyone left on the rink. Most of them are _children,_ Tony realizes and anger starts spitting in his chest.

The guy peeks around Thor, right at him. “Yoo hoo, Mr. Stark. Remember me?”

“Leave them be!” Thor snarls, struggling uselessly.

The words are out of Tony's mouth before he can think better of it, “No, no, I really don't.”

Mr. Freeze scowls. “You ruined my life.”

“Tony,” Steve breathes behind him, sounding wrecked, “I can—” He's struggling to sit up.

Tony puts a hand on Steve's chest and gently presses him back down, blinking at Mr. Freeze. In his peripheral vision, he can see the blue glow in the sky that he knows has to be the suit. He's almost giddy with the thought that it worked. “You're going to have to be a little more specific, I know a lot of people who think I've ruined their lives.”

Mr. Freeze's expression darkens even further. “My name is Donnie Gill. You fired me!”

And finally, Tony recognizes him, just as the suit arrives. He shoots to his feet, opening his arms in welcome, and the suit wraps around him without a hitch. “You made me test that early,” Tony shouts gleefully and pumps his fist.

“Sir, the Mark VII is not ready for deployment,” JARVIS informs him.

Toy shakes his head. “Then skip the spinning rims, we're on the clock.” He braces himself with one foot and points the palm repulsors at Gill. “Okay, so you're pissed I fired you. Need I remind you that you _stole from my company?_ It looks like you've been up to some fun things, so maybe you should just go before I go and ruin your life again.”

Donnie screams in reply. Tony guesses he's not going to take the out he's been offered.

A second later he's proved right, dodging to the left to avoid another blast from Donnie's weapon. “Just remember I offered to let you go,” Tony tells him and Donnie makes another soundless noise of rage. “Seriously, you need to take a chill pill.”

“Tony,” Steve croaks.

“Hang in there, Steve, I'm coming,” Tony replies and fires three quick blasts that shatter the ice holding Thor.

“Thank you,” he growls as he wades free of the crumbling pieces.

Donnie points the gun at him again, face nearly purple with fury and Tony hits it with one carefully aimed repulsor beam. It explodes in his hands.

“You got him, Thor?” Tony calls and Thor nods, sweeping his hair up with one hand and tying it back into a bun with a few quick twists of his wrist.

“Aye. See to Steve.”

Tony does not envy being on the other end of the murderous look on Thor's face as he hauls Donnie off his feet.

Natasha is kneeling next to Steve still, trying to slide her fingers under the hunk of ice on his shoulder like she might be able to pry it off. “Here, let me,” Tony says. He lowers himself to one knee and gingerly gets the fingers of the suit around the edges, one in front and one in back and tugs. The ice cracks along Steve's shoulder and then into pieces in Tony's hands. He quickly discards them and helps Natasha brush the remaining chunks off of Steve. His shirt is wet where the ice was touching and Tony realizes that he's shaking.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“No, he's not,” Natasha says tersely, even as Steve says, “I'm fine.” Natasha glares at him and he gives her a petulant look in return.

Then he sighs and puts his head down on her shoulder. “Have some history with ice in the army,” he says.

“Shit,” Tony says.

Steve turns his head so Tony can see his face and he's smiling wanly. “I'll be fine. It was just a shock.”

“Well, I don't think anyone counts on a guy with an ice blaster showing up to the party.”

Steve huffs a laugh. His eyes sweep over the suit, and if Tony's not mistaken, there's admiration in his gaze. “That's something else, Tony. Good to see you in action. Looks different than I remember.”

“Ah, it's new,” Tony says and he's surprised when Steve's face brightens with pleasure.

“You're working on it again.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees, inexplicably embarrassed and pleased by Steve's reaction.

“Good,” Steve says, his smile soft and warm. “The world needs men like you.”

Tony has absolutely no idea what to say to that.


	53. Chapter 53

Tony clears a hole through the ice blocking the doorway out of the rink around the time that the police show up. They give statements and find out Clint has been hiding under a table just outside since Natasha told him to book it.

“Yeah, you know, I’m a big baby,” he says, looking sheepish. Only Tony’s bullshit-dar is pinging. He can’t figure out what’s causing it, but something doesn’t add up.

Tony doesn’t get a chance to puzzle it out though, what with giving the police his statement and then indulging a couple of them who are apparently fans.

It’s nearly two hours later when they’ve all finally finished giving their statements and are allowed to leave. They pile into a cab together, Tony squashed in between Natasha and Steve in the backseat, Thor and Clint in the middle.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Tony remarks ruefully.

Steve huffs a laugh. He’s still pale and a little less with-it than he’d normally be. To Tony’s surprise—and what looks like Clint’s, too—Steve lets his head come down to rest on Tony’s shoulder. Tony freezes, not wanting to discourage him by shifting, or breathing, or making even the slightest movement.

Natasha smirks at him.

“So. You, uh. You have issues with ice?” Tony says and immediately winces. This is like the “hey, can I play with your hearing aid?” incident all over again.

“Mm,” Steve murmurs, sounding barely conscious. “Traumatic response. Used to freak out.”

“He couldn’t have ice cubes in his drinks,” Clint points out helpfully.

“What the hell did ice do to you?” Tony asks, bewildered.

Steve turns his face into Tony’s chest and mumbles something Tony can’t understand. Then something he can: “Almost froze to death.”

“Jesus,” Tony breathes and reaches up with one hand to cup the side of Steve’s head, fingers burrowing into his hair as he presses against it lightly, feeling the warmth of Steve’s scalp against his palm.

“‘M fine now,” Steve says and Natasha snorts indelicately. Steve cracks open an eye to give her a baleful look.

“Still knocks you on your ass though,” Tony surmises and Steve grimaces.

“Can, yeah.”

“That happens to me,” Tony says, and only realizes what he's admitted to when it's out of his mouth.

Steve makes a curious noise and everyone else in the car suddenly finds something other than Tony very interesting.

Tony stifles a sigh. Cat's already out of the bag, he supposes. “Yeah. For me it's water.” He's pretty sure being paralyzed would do it too, but so far he hasn't had an opportunity to test that theory.

“'s harder to avoid,” Steve says with a sympathetic wince. He twists his head to look up at Tony, his expression suddenly concerned. “Hey, 'f I wanna do something that's gonna set you off, remind me, okay? I might forget, but I don't want you to just grin and bear it. If I say, 'You wanna go swimming this weekend, Tony?' Just tell me, 'You're bein' a real ass, Steve.'”

He can't help remembering when he told Tiberius about his little issue with water. Tiberius had jokingly offered to help him with “exposure therapy” and Tony's avoided being near Tiberius and water together ever since.

Tony huffs. “Sure, Steve.”

“'m serious,” Steve says, and his gaze is intense. “Promise me you'll call me out on it if I do that.”

“Okay,” Tony says, mystified. “Okay, all right, I promise.”

Steve lets out a noisy breath of satisfaction and lays his head on Tony's shoulder again. Then he threads their fingers together and Tony has to turn his face toward the window to try and hide the grin he can't fight down.

–

  
It's been weeks, and Tony knows he's been lucky to have kept it quiet this long.

That doesn't mean he's any more prepared when Ty finds out though.

He'd spent the evening at Steve's place, having let himself in with bags of take out before Steve, Sam, or Bucky had gotten off work or whatever it was they secretly did all day. It isn't an exciting night out—all they do is sit around the living room and eat and talk while flipping through channels. It's almost nine when _The Green Mile_ comes on. Steve's never seen _The Green Mile,_ so even though he'd usually be heading home, Tony decides to stick around.

At some point he falls asleep.

When he opens his eyes, Obie is there, leaning over him, smiling.

Tony whimpers, frozen in place.

“Oh, Tony.”

 _You're dead,_ Tony thinks desperately, but Obie jerks the arc reactor from his chest and it's agonizing.

“...Tony.”

“It's beautiful,” Obie murmurs, staring at the glowing reactor in his hand. The reactor that should— _needs—_ to be in Tony's chest. Tony's chest aches and it's hard to tell if it's because he's going into cardiac arrest or because he _trusted_ Obie.

“Tony, can you hear me?”

Tony blinks the wetness from his eyes and realizes abruptly that it's not Obie looking down at him.

It's Steve.

“Wake up, Tony,” he demands.

Tony comes awake with a yell, flailing as he's suddenly released from the paralysis. Everything spins dizzyingly and then he lands hard on his hands and knees, the jolt clearing his head.

He stays there, hunched over and panting as he gets his bearings.

It was just a nightmare. He's in Steve's apartment. He fell asleep on the couch and—

“Tony?” Steve says, voice low and cautious.

Tony's gaze skitters around the living room and he finds Steve sitting on the edge of the seat in the armchair in the corner, watching him. It looks like he doesn't want to be seated, but he's making himself.

“Are you awake now?” Steve asks.

“Yeah,” Tony croaks and sits down on his hip, laying his head down on one knee as he tries to get his breath back. Embarrassment is starting to creep up the back of his neck. Natasha and Sam are peering out from the doorway and he's pretty sure the shadow in the kitchen is Bucky.

“Okay, good.” There's an awkward pause. Steve clears his throat and then tries, “Is it— Do you want me to—” He gestures vaguely.

“Wow, you're shit at this,” Tony says because with the adrenaline draining out of his system his filter is pretty much non-existent.

Steve flushes and pulls his elbows into his lap, shoulders hunching.

Tony grimaces. “Sorry. Yeah, I'd— Over here, please.”

He seems a little uncertain, but Steve crosses the room and eases down on the floor next to Tony, within touching distance, but not touching. Tony figures if he wants the contact, he's going to have to initiate it.

So he slumps back against the couch and leans into Steve's shoulder, curling up so his thigh is pressed to Steve's. “Sorry,” he mutters into Steve's collarbone. “I get screaming night terrors, did I mention?”

He kind of wants to cry when Steve lifts his arm and wraps it around him. “I kind of figured as much after you mentioned the water thing.” He kisses Tony's forehead and Tony's eyes prick with tears.

“I'm a fucking wreck, Steve,” he points out, resigned. “Why do this when you could be with someone normal?”

“I'd rather be with you,” Steve murmurs and kisses his temple.

Tony buries his face in Steve's shoulder. He ends up dozing for another hour like that.

When he finally gets back to the Tower, it's half past eight and he nearly jumps out of his skin when he runs into Tiberius.

“Oh ho ho, look who's doing the walk of shame,” Tiberius says, smirking broadly.

Tony flushes, which is ridiculous, considering he didn't even actually get laid.

“I knew you missed getting your dick wet.”

God, has Ty always been this vulgar? “Ah. Yep. You sure do know me,” Tony says. What the hell. Why is he lying?

Tiberius leans in to kiss him. “Was she a decent lay? Kept you out all night, so she must have been. I should get a ride, too.”

“Welp, sorry, didn't get her number,” Tony says, slipping out of his reach. “You know how it is. I'm just gonna—” He gestures toward the bathroom, fakes a yawn. “All tuckered out.”

When he's shut the door, he leans back against it and closes his eyes. “Well, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ?????????


	54. Chapter 54

After that, Tony gets the distinct impression that Ty is keeping an eye on him, trying to see who it is he's hooking up with. It's nerve-racking, but still not enough to keep him away from Steve, whose mouth has become an all-consuming distraction.

He _still_ hasn't kissed Tony, and it's making him absolutely bonkers. It's all he thinks about.

Steve has a very kissable-looking mouth and Tony wants to know just how soft his lower lip is, what Steve does with his hands. Tony's betting it's good, whatever it is. They're big—they'd be good for cupping Tony's face. Or he might run his fingers through Tony's hair. Maybe Steve's more daring than he seems and he'd squeeze Tony's ass.

Honestly, Tony doesn't even care at this point, he just wants to _know._

He also wouldn't say no to a roll in the hay, but that gets his anxiety up so probably he _would_ say no. Steve doesn't seem inclined to offer kisses _or_ a little nookie so it's a moot point.

Part of Tony is hurt by the apparent lack of interest, except Steve still compliments him and gives him smoldering up-and-downs that make Tony feel hot all over. He's made it clear that he _wants_ , there's just something holding him back.

Maybe the way Tony treats him like a dirty little secret.

When they go out in public, Tony makes sure he brings dark wrap-around sunglasses that cover almost half of Steve's face and two different hats, so when they go inside somewhere Steve can swap hats on the way back out. Tony has his own elaborate disguises and they enter through alleys carrying umbrellas and newspapers and anything else they can hide their faces with. They've been lucky to go unnoticed so far and Tony's not about to leave it up to chance anymore. It's ridiculous, the hoops Tony makes Steve jump through to ensure no one sees them together.

Steve takes it all in stride though.

“We're going to wear sunglasses at night?” he says, a note of humor alongside a note of dubiousness in his voice. “Won't that make us awfully conspicuous?”

“Conspicuous but unrecognizable,” Tony tells him, and then sticks an enormous fake mustache on Steve's upper lip.

Bucky snickers. “That's a good look for you, Stevie.”

Last, Tony hands Steve a red trucker cap. He reads it before he puts it on: “Free mustache rides.” Bucky howls with laughter. “Tony. Why do you have this? Don't tell me it was Rhodey, I won't believe you.”

“Well, then I won't,” Tony says primly and sticks a fake beard on his own face. It's blonde and Steve's eyebrows go up as he takes in the look.

“This process is taking too long,” Thor complains. “Perhaps someone else should go and obtain the beers.”

“No, hey, we volunteered, we're going!” Tony says. He starts chivvying Steve toward the door, tugging on a ski cap that he pulls down over his eyebrows.

Natasha emerges from the hallway and snorts in a very undignified way. “Careful with him, Stark, he's terrible at going incognito.”

“We're gonna be quick!” Tony says, pulling the door closed behind them. “Hopefully it won't matter.”

It only takes them ten minutes to walk down to the grocery store around the corner. Steve keeps making faces when the mustache tickles and Tony laughs until his sides ache with it. “You really are terrible at this,” he gasps and Steve looks abashed.

“I don't need to do a lot of sneaking around.”

Tony squeezes his hand, smiling. “Not a problem from where I'm standing. I sneak enough for both of us.”

It's been awhile since Tony last set foot in a grocery store, so he's distracted once they get inside. Shopping unassisted in a physical store is kind of a novelty. Steve makes a beeline for the beer in the back cases, and Tony trails along behind him, peering at all the shelves along the way with interest. He spots gelato in one of the cases and calls to Steve, “Hey, can we get this?”

Steve glances back over his shoulder, already holding two twenty-four packs of beer in one hand. Tony stops and stares for a second because holy shit. _Hot_. It doesn't even look like he's working at it. “We can get whatever you want,” Steve replies, amused.

Tony grabs a couple of pints and then glances at the other aisles. “I know we said we'd be quick—”

“Go take a look.” Steve's all but grinning at this point. “I have to grab paper towels. Meet you up front?”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees and practically bounces off. It's strange seeing all the products on the shelves. He's used to seeing this kind of thing on screen, not in person and it's kind of surreal. There is a ton of stuff. Brands that have never sat on his shelves.

He doesn't want to make Steve wait too long, so he does his best to skim through the aisles, grabbing a couple things that catch his eyes—kale chips, grapples, a giant bag of Twizzlers.

When he calls it and heads up front, he hears Steve before he sees him.

“...help you?”

“I've seen you with Tony Stark,” another voice says and Tony's steps falter.

“Ah,” Steve says, and when Tony peeks around the display at the end of the aisle, he looks like a deer in headlights. The mustache is poking out of his breast pocket. He's still holding the two cases of beer in one hand, and now he has a twelve pack of paper towels under the other arm. There's a smaller man looking up at him, the light glinting off his glasses.

The man moves a little closer and Steve steps back from him automatically, shoulders tensing.

“Hey, man, if you wanted to answer some questions about the guy, I could make it worth your while.”

The barely-contained panic in Steve's expression fades to a frown. “What?”

Tony's heart sinks. Jesus, really? Money?

“Yeah,” the guy says eagerly, “just answer some questions about Tony Stark and I can pay you. A hundred K, easy. Bet you don't make that much in a year, you could make it in an hour.” He leans in a little closer. "If you know anything about the miniaturized arc reactor rumor, could be double that.”

Fear floods through Tony and he almost misses Steve's reply over the roar of his pounding heart in his ears.

“How dare you,” Steve snaps, his voice like steel.

Tony's eyes jerk back up and he's astonished to see the unmitigated fury on Steve's face.

“What the hell kind of man offers money in exchange for private details from a stranger? Tony Stark is a _human being_ , do you understand that? He deserves his privacy as much as the next guy and it's disgusting that you would offer someone _money_ to betray his confidence. There's nothing you could offer me to convince me to do something that deplorable. Get the hell out of my face,” Steve growls and Tony's jaw drops.

“Jesus,” the other man grumbles, glaring sullenly at Steve, “Look who thinks he's God's gift to man.”

“Fuck off,” Steve snarls, and takes one menacing step toward the guy. He's towering, terrifyingly dangerous looking even from this distance and His Nosiness beats a hasty retreat.

When he's gone, Steve closes his eyes and inhales sharply, his expression still thunderous. His fingers are white-knuckled around the crumpled handles of the cases of beer. “The fucking _nerve_ ,” Tony hears him spit to himself and Tony is so thrown, he just stands there, watching as Steve seethes and paces.

God. Steve is—Steve turned down money for him. Steve lost his _shit_ on a stranger for _Tony._

Steve wheels around and spots Tony standing shell-shocked at the end of the aisle, the anger on his face disappearing in an instant to be replaced with contrition. “Tony. Tony, I'm sorry, it—the mustache was driving me nuts, I took it off—someone—someone recognized me.”

Tony stares, stunned, as Steve tells him about the exact encounter he just witnessed. As Steve _apologizes_ for it. He even mentions the fucking bribe!

“You didn't take it?”

Steve jerks, shocked. “Of course I didn't! That's a despicable thing to do, no matter how much money they're offering.” He meets Tony's eyes, his gaze intense. “Tony, you have to know that. I would _never_.”

“You really wouldn't,” Tony says faintly, a little awed by the realization.

He lunges forward, grabbing Steve by the neck and pulling his head down.

Steve sucks the breath right out of Tony's mouth in a gasp, and drops the beer cases with a loud _CLANG_ , his hands sweeping around Tony's back to pull him close. Tony lets out a pleased, startled moan.

That reaction takes Tony from overjoyed to elated. Steve _does_ want him, and he's willing to curse at complete strangers to defend Tony.

Tony giggles, breaking the kiss and Steve's confused expression just makes him giggle harder. He buries his face in Steve's shoulder, trying to pull himself together. It feels like his heart is going to pop when Steve cups the back of his head with one hand, his fingers scratching gently along Tony's scalp and then down the back of his neck. “Tony?”

Tony leans up and kisses him again, just because he can.

When he draws back, Steve chases after him for an inch or two before his eyes flutter open dazedly. Tony grins and thumbs at the lower lip he spent so much time thinking about. It's as blissfully soft as he imagined and Steve's eyes go dark at the touch.

“You're something else, you know that?” Tony murmurs at Steve.

“Something good, I hope,” Steve replies and bumps their foreheads together. They stay that way for a long moment, grinning stupidly at each other in the middle of the cereal aisle. Then Steve says, “C'mon, let's get back before they send a search party. We can hide in my room and make out?”

“I'll pay,” Tony replies breathlessly, “you hail a cab.”

Steve's laugh makes him feel like he's in the suit, hovering well off the ground.

They're giddy as they pile into the back of the cab. Steve tosses the package of paper towels into the middle seat and then, much to Tony's surprise, leans across it to capture Tony's lips in a kiss.

So he is willing to initiate. Tony pulls in a sharp breath and goes still. That means. That means Steve was waiting on _him._

Every time Steve leaned in and pressed their foreheads together, every time he kissed Tony's cheek, every time he cupped Tony's cheek, Tony wasn't imagining the desire in those gestures. It wasn't that Steve didn't _want_ him, it was that Steve was waiting on Tony.

It's a level of consideration Tony has rarely been afforded and Tony's throat constricts.

They pull up at the apartment and Steve unloads the beer and paper towels, leaving them to sit on the curb before offering Tony his hand. His face is soft and relaxed, eyes crinkled at the corner with happiness and it hurts so good, the knowledge that he cares, that he feels the same way Tony does. Tony's not sure what it is he's feeling, what the ballooning warmth in his chest is. If he didn't know better, he'd say it might be love, but love has never felt this good. It's never been so _easy._

The gang is waiting for them inside and razzes them mercilessly for taking so long. Natasha catches Tony's eye at one point and he can tell by her expression that she can tell something has changed. She touches his elbow. “Are you okay?”

Tony nods, eyes slipping over to Steve, whose head is bent close to Thor's. A laugh breaks across his face as Tony looks and it warms him inside. “Yeah. I'm great.”

When everyone's attention finally drifts, Steve makes his way over to Tony, reaching out to take his hand. He steps in close, and Tony shivers at the warmth coming off his skin. “My room?”

“Yeah,” Tony breathes and they slip away down the hall, Tony quietly closing Steve's bedroom door behind them. He meets Steve's eyes and the air between them is thick with anticipation.

Now that he's looking for it, Tony recognizes the signs of Steve holding himself back to wait for Tony. His hands twitching at his sides, the way his head dips toward Tony when he moves closer. It gives Tony a strange, heady sense of control.

He crowds Steve back toward the bed and Steve lets him, looking at Tony like he's drawing him in his head, which for all Tony knows, he is. He topples back onto the bed easily when Tony presses on his chest. Tony climbs up beside him, stretching out along his side and Steve sighs, mouth opening easily when Tony kisses him.

They stay that way for awhile, kissing and kissing, soft, wet exploration that Tony finds immensely satisfying. It's a revelation, unlike anything Tony's ever done before. When his neck starts to hurt, Tony lays his head down on Steve's chest and Steve kisses the side of his head. It's warm and comfortable, but Tony can't help the way his thoughts turn.

It doesn't make sense that Steve would want this with him, with all his baggage.

“Why are you doing this?” Tony asks quietly, voice hoarse. “Why do you want to date me when you could be with someone you don’t have to share? And don’t try and tell me you don’t mind.”

“No, you’re right, I do,” Steve agrees easily enough. He twists his head to look down at Tony. “I don’t take it out on you, do I? I try not to. That wouldn’t be fair.”

Tony huffs and pats Steve’s chest. “No. You just get quiet when it gets brought up.”

“If you can’t say something nice…”

Tony laughs. Then he sobers and murmurs, “I appreciate it.”

Steve kisses the crown of his head. “If you’re happy, I’m happy. I can stand a little jealousy. It builds character.”

Tony snickers. “You still didn’t tell me why. When you could be with someone sans jealousy.”

“I think you underestimate how greedy I can be.” Before Tony can press him again, he says, “There was a woman before you. She meant a lot to me, and I think I did to her, too. But because of our circumstances we put it off.” For a long moment, the sound of Steve’s heart beating is all Tony hears. “She’s dead now, God rest her,” Steve says quietly.

Tony’s throat closes up. Jesus.

Steve pets his arm, and Tony thinks Steve’s trying to reassure him which is a little ridiculous, but sweet. “I feel about you the way I did about her. And I’m not going to miss out again if I can help it.”

Tony presses his hand over Steve’s heart.

In the low light, Steve’s eyes shine. Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way Steve looks at him. It’s like he can’t pull his gaze away, like Tony is something incredible.

Tony kisses him.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short flashback

**Monaco, 2010**

**Just after the disaster at the Grand Prix.**

 

Pepper shouts at him the entire walk back to the hotel.

It's only about 40% actually directed at him, the rest is venting the stress of what just happened out on that racetrack, so Tony ignores her. He's too angry—too shaken up to listen to her and get his head around what the hell just happened.

God, can't he catch a fucking break?

All he wanted was one last vacation with the woman in his life, and this joker has to show up?

He's tired.

He showers and changes and when he emerges, Pepper has gathered up the tatters of her composure and she's wearing them like a suit of armor. “You need to see a doctor,” she says.

“No,” Tony replies, and walks out the door.

He goes straight to the hotel bar, which is stupid, maybe, but he needs to calm his nerves. He needs a drink.

There, standing at the bar, is Tiberius Stone.

Tony's heart actually skips a beat at the sight of him. He'd been good-looking in high school and college, but age looks even better on him. His shoulders are broad enough for his jaw now, and he's got a kind of regal air about him with his long blond hair tied back at the nape of his neck.

He spots Tony looking and his icy blue eyes widen. Those eyes—those eyes had always done Tony in. “Tony?”

“Tiberius,” Tony replies. “It's been a long time.”

“Ages. My god, Tony. You look good.”

They're within arm's length now, and Tiberius reaches out, curling his hand around Tony's elbow. It's a familiar touch, one that makes Tony shiver. He smiles, feels some of the tension he's been carrying around since that missile punched holes in him nearly four months ago seep from his shoulders.

“Thanks. Forty's been good to you, too.”

Tiberius chuckles and then the mirth fades from his face. His hand squeezes Tony's arm gently. “I heard you'd been captured overseas. Is it true Obie was killed?”

Tony looks away, scratches his chin. “Yeah. It's been a rough couple months.” Then he blurts, “He's the one who arranged the overseas thing.”

He told Tiberius everything when they were growing up, and it's easy to fall back into old habits.

Tiberius' eyes go wide. “No shit? Jesus, Tony. I'm sorry. I know he was more like an old man to you than your dad was sometimes.”

Tony pulls on a smile and rubs at one gritty eye. The sympathy is more gratifying than he'd like to admit. “Yeah, my family sure was a piece of work, huh?”

“Your mother was a wonderful woman.”

Cutting a look up at Tiberius through his eyelashes, Tony smiles. “Well, that's true.”

“Your dad was a shit, though,” Tiberius continues and Tony laughs. “Apparently so was Obie.”

God, it's good to see Ty. To talk to someone who knew his family and what it was like. Who isn't entrenched in the shit that's been going on.

Tiberius' hand is still on his arm, his eyes tracing over Tony, hooded and contemplative. “I've missed you,” he says, voice low.

Tony darts his tongue over the corner of his mouth, feels his blood heat. “Missed you, too, Ty.”

Stepping a little closer, so Tony has to look up at him, Tiberius says, “Come back to my room?”

Tony nods, the breath catching in his chest. “Yeah, all right.”

They barely make it to the door before they're all over one another, Tony kissing him like it might be his last (it might). It's just like old times—hotter maybe, since they haven't done this in years. Tiberius peels him out of his jacket and then his shirt—

And then he stops dead.

Tony swallows thickly. “Ah.”

“Jesus, Tony. This is what they did to you over there?”

“Upgraded by yours truly, but, yeah. It's whatever. At the moment it's also killing me, so whatever, can we just—”

“ _Tony_ ,” Tiberius breathes, but to Tony's relief, he doesn't fuss. He just dives back in like he wants to devour Tony whole.

For a little while, Tony forgets about everything.


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some experimenting and trying things out
> 
> **warning:** character death

Tony staggers back, and falls, lands hard on his ass. Pain spikes up his spine, but he ignores it, scrambling backward on the slick marble floor as fast as he can.

It’s not fast enough.

Tiberius is on him in just a few strides, dropping in a controlled fall to pin Tony’s legs by kneeling on his thighs.

Tony bucks under his weight, but he’s got nearly fifty pounds on him and it barely jostles him.

Tiberius’ face is a rictus of fury. “If you’d just gone along with it, this wouldn’t have to end like this,” he spits and Tony’s heart stretches like a rubber band in his chest.

He tries to swipe at Tiberius’ face, but Tiberius grabs his wrist with one hand and wrenches the arc reactor around with the other.

Tony lets out a wild, horrified noise as it falls loose and tries to grab it.

Tiberius yanks, hard, and the wires leading from the arc reactor into the hole in Tony’s chest snap. 

\--

Steve had spotted it when Tony raised his arm, the cuff of his suit sliding down enough to reveal the dark purple shadow around his wrist.

“What happened?” he asked, gesturing to it with a nod of his head.

Tony had glanced at him and then at the bruise on his wrist before hastily lowering his arm and tugging his sleeve back into place.

“Ah, nothing, Tiberius squeezed a little too hard. It was an accident.”

Hell of an accident, Steve thinks.

He tells Tiberius as much the next time he sees him. Bucky captures Tony’s attention and Steve moves in, quick and quiet, and says in a low voice, “Hurt him again and I’ll see that you pay for it.”

Tiberius looks up at him, and for a second, Steve thinks he’s going to deny it. Then he hunches meekly and nods. “No, god, it won’t happen again. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t even realize— You can imagine how sick I felt when I saw the bruise the next morning. No, Steve, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

“Good,” Steve replies gruffly, because that’s not how he saw this conversation going at all.

Tiberius nods and then Tony’s approaching, glancing a little nervously between the two of them. “Hey, guys, what are we talking about?”

“You,” Tiberius says with an easy smile and he reaches out to reel Tony in with a hand hooked around his waist. Tony’s blushing when he kisses him. “Say bye to Steve.”

“Bye, Steve,” Tony says, and pulls far enough out of Tiberius embrace to lean up and give Steve a goodbye kiss.

“Bye,” Steve murmurs, and watches, disgruntled as they slip into the waiting car.

“He deny it?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve says, frowning. “Said he did it on accident.”

Bucky snorts. “Don’t they all.”

–

Things are fine until they turn the corner and Steve and Bucky are out of sight. Then Tiberius’ grip on Tony’s hand is suddenly too tight, grinding the bones in Tony’s fingers together.

“Ow, hey, what—”

Tiberius rips open his shirt cuff, which, _hurts_ because of how it cuts into the bruise on his wrist.

“Ouch! Ty—”

“Did you tell them I did this on _purpose?_ ” Ty demands, waving his own bruised wrist in front of his face. He’s seething, his lip curled back from his teeth.

“What? No!”

Tiberius’ hand tightens around his wrist again, just like it had the other night, only this time it’s already tender and Tony tries to shake him off.

“Let go, you’re hurting me!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d stop spreading lies about me! You knew what they’d think if they saw it!”

Tony tries to pull free, but Tiberius’ grip just tightens until there are tears pricking at his eyes. “I told them it was an accident,” he chokes.

“If you weren’t so goddamned clumsy—” Tiberius eyes are blazing when he says, “If you let anyone think I smack you around again, you’ll find out what it would _really_ be like.”

Tony gapes at him, stunned.

“Oh, wipe that stupid look off your face,” Tiberius spits and then reaches over to the bar, filling a napkin with ice and turning around to press it against Tony’s throbbing wrist. “Dammit, Tony, you make me so angry.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony replies feebly, because he doesn’t know what the hell else to say.

It’s like Tiberius lanced the wound, and now that the poison is out, he’s gentle and considerate, his hands ginger as he cups Tony’s wrist and ices it to reduce the swelling. It happens so smoothly that despite how shaken he is, Tony almost wonders if he imagined the whole thing.

\--

“Steve,” Natasha says, putting one hand on his arm just as he’s about to climb out of the car.

Steve turns to listen to whatever it is she has to say. Her expression is grim, delicate brows twisted just a little.

“Remember how I said I thought Tony’s boyfriend was abusive?”

“I remember,” Steve agrees.

“I want you to also remember that whatever he shows you may not reflect that.”

“I…think I understand.” Steve frowns as he tries to piece together what he thinks she’s telling him. “You’re saying…he’ll hide what he does.”

“It could be misdirection, distraction, or the abuse may just be part of a private facet of his personality. Whatever it is, he may not _seem_ like the type of man who could be abusive. Do you see what I’m saying?”

Steve swallows. “You think he might pull one over on me. Make me think he’s a nice guy.”

Natasha looks him unflinchingly in the eye. “He’s an abuser. Abusers are exceptionally good at camouflaging themselves. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t have partners, and they wouldn’t get away with the things they do.”

“Okay,” Steve says, back straightening. “I have to be alert. I can do that.”

Natasha catches him by the arm again and Steve pauses, surprised. “Don’t beat yourself up if he gets you, Steve,” she says. “There are trained professionals who study men like this who still get caught up in their webs.”

Apprehension creeps up Steve’s spine. This time when he reaches for the door, Natasha lets him get it open. He steps out into the bright sunshine and he’s turning to shut the door when Natasha calls, “And Steve?”

He pokes his head back in the car.

“If Tony gets weird, or seems not like himself, that’s why. It won’t have anything to do with you. Don’t make it about you.”

“Sure,” Steve says, throat suddenly dry. He can do that.

–

Dammit, Natasha’s always right.

Steve goes in fully prepared to be civil with Tiberius, but not a bit warmer. But then, as Tony—who is strange and sullen, just like Natasha said he might be—is introducing them, Tiberius spots an older woman to Steve’s right who has a swathe of bad burns up her arm and across half of her face, the scarred skin completely covering her eye.

When Tiberius opens his mouth, Steve is braced for something that will grind his teeth, but all Tiberius says is, “I’m sorry, give me just a minute.”

Then he goes to the woman and touches her shoulder. Steve doesn’t expect to see her light up the way she does, or the warm hug they share.

Tony must see his confusion because he says, “That’s Aiyana. She works for Viastone. Two years ago her husband set her house on fire with her inside.”

Horrified, Steve stares at Tony.

“Ty pays his janitorial staff better than most places, but four weeks in the hospital is still over the threshold of affordability for them. He paid her bills, visited her three times a week the whole stay.” Tony’s expression is soft and said. “Ty’s good to his people—it’s a big part of why I fell in love with him.”

“Sorry,” Tiberius says when he returns, hand outstretched to shake Steve’s hand. “Friend I haven’t seen in awhile. So, Steve, what is it you like to do?”

After, Steve sits in shock, a beer in one hand. “He seems like a good guy,” he says incredulously to Natasha. “He asked about my art. He brought Tony drinks and talked about how Viastone’s success is founded on treating every employee like a person first and an employee second. He’s funny and—” Steve takes a long pull from his beer, feeling hunted. “He got me,” he croaks. “But I _knew—_ ”

“Imagine how it went for Tony.”

Steve pales. “He never stood a chance.”

Natasha nods. “He’s all smiles and charm until he’s got you in his web. Then it’s too late. You’re stuck.”

Steve glances over at Natasha, away from the wall. “Then how do we—how can we help him?”

Natasha shrugs with one shoulder. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. All it takes is one person who treats you like you matter—like you’re more than a thing.” She looks across the room to where Clint is sitting and they exchange a look that says more than some of the books Steve’s read. “Be patient. Tony has to see for himself what Tiberius is doing to him or he’ll stay stuck.”

Steve chews his lip. “There’s nothing else I can do?”

Natasha turns eyes that know too much on him. “Rhodes and Pepper are Tony’s oldest friends aside from Tiberius. You’ve seen how Tony holds them at arm’s length. They tried to make him see. All you can do is refuse to let Tony lie to himself about his culpability in this and wait. Then, when he’s ready, you help him get free.”

Steve takes a shaky breath. Inaction in the face of something like this goes against everything Steve believes, everything he’s fought for. He wants to forcibly remove Tony and make him see sense, even though he can hardly see it himself. But yeah, he’s seen the way Tony all but cut Rhodes out of his life, how stiff and formal he is around Pepper, and according to Natasha they’re his best friends. Rhodes spent _three months_ in the desert searching for Tony. They had tried what Steve wants to try and it had blown up in their faces.

He can’t make the same mistake.

“Okay,” he says, taking another unsteady breath. “Then that’s my play. Wait and watch.”

Natasha smiles thinly behind her own glass bottle. “Might just be the hardest fight of your life, Rogers.”


	57. Chapter 57

 

“So!” Tony says, spreading his hands in invitation. “What's the verdict? Hit me.”

Tiberius glances over, smiling at him indulgently. “They seemed nice.”

“Nice?” Tony echoes. “Nice? Nice is like a death knell.”

Tiberius laughs. “Well they did. The redhead was even hotter than you.”

Tony makes a noise of mock outrage and Tiberius laughs again.

TIBERIUS SAYS SOMETHING TO MAKE TONY THINK STEVE/THE AVENGERS TALKED SHIT ABOUT HIM?

* * *

 

Tony knows his relationship with Natasha is evolving because he doesn't flinch and glare when she joins him in front of the dartboard.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Nope,” Tony replies. “Square up.” He tosses the dart in his hand and hits a double twenty. He pauses to preen a little for managing that with her standing there.

“Nice shot,” Natasha says, inspecting her own set.

“Thanks.” Tony tries not to sound too pleased. He doesn't care what Natasha thinks.

Sure.

Natasha shifts a curl of hair out of her face with a flick of her head. “What do you want to play?”

“Ladies' choice.”

That makes Natasha smile. “501 it is.”

The game starts quiet, the two of them trading places and taking their shots without a word, drinking while they watch the other play.

Somehow it's as awkward as it is comfortable.

Eventually, Natasha glances at him. “This is nice.” She smiles. “Being normal, you know.” She reaches over and knocks him gently in the arm with her knuckles. “Thanks for letting me have this.”

Tony huffs. “I'll forgive you for not knowing because you never made it quite _that_ far into my life, but I'll have you know my heart is sitting in a glass box on the bench in my workshop. I have one, and occasionally I let it out to play.”

That makes her smile wide and easy. There's something almost soft about it. “I'll bet it gets out more often than you like to think.”

“Treachery,” Tony replies. Then, because he still doesn't know all that much about her, and because he doesn't understand how she got so close to _Steve_ of all people, he says, “You didn't get much normal growing up?”

Honestly, he expects to get shut down. But Natasha just looks at him for a thoughtful moment and answers, “No.”

She doesn't elaborate and Tony isn't entirely sure what to say after that, so he ducks his head and focuses on taking his next few turns.

He's lining up a shot when Natasha says quietly, “The people I should have been able to trust betrayed me.”

Tony's breath catches and he blinks away the thought of Obie.

He doesn't know why the hell she's telling him this, but it feels like something he should look at her for. So he lowers his darts and looks back.

Natasha's gaze is faraway.

“Sometimes it was a game. Like those pictures where they ask you what the differences are between the two. Only every difference you point out they correct you. 'That's not a difference. Look again.' And you only looked away for a second, but... they're right. It feels like you're losing your mind. Things you thought you knew, you start to question.”

Ice sheets down Tony's back and he stares at her, throat clicking as he tries to swallow.

Natasha presses her lips together and looks at him. “It's like living in a funhouse mirror.” Tony feels frozen. It's like she's reading right out of his brain. She shrugs casually, expression impassive. “Clint showed me mercy and Nick showed me how to spot the system.”

“The system?” Tony rasps.

Natasha nods, and her gaze is so intense it makes him shiver. “He told me that lying and secrets were part of the whole spy gig, but if I really wanted to know, the information was out there to be had.” A smile flickers across her face. “That's why I learned hacking.”

Tony swallows convulsively. “And you found what you were looking for?”

Her mouth twists wryly. “And more. The truth isn't always easy to hear.” She steps forward and nudges his arm up, gesturing toward the dartboard. “Now I trust myself to spot the differences. I set the target. I don't let anyone else set it for me.”

The dart hits the board with a _thock_.

Across the bar, the door opens and in walks Tiberius.


	58. Chapter 58

“Seriously, you've never dated?” Tony says incredulously.

“I've been on dates,” Steve says, and his huge shoulders are creeping up around his ears. He sighs and they sink back down. “They just don't...go well.”

Tony stares. “What in the name of mathematical engineering are you _doing_ on these dates? People who look like you usually have to beat them off with a stick even with the personality of a mud puddle.”

Steve rubs the back of his head. “You know that conversation where I told you I was lying to you and would continue lying to you?”

Tony feels his eyes go wide. “You didn’t. _With all of them?”_

Steve laughs awkwardly. “Yeah. And, uh—” his eyes skip sideways, “—usually on the first date.”

“Oh my _god_.”

Steve looks up at Tony and smiles crookedly. “Kept putting it off when it came to you.” He looks down at his fingers, laced together between his knees. “Wasn’t ready to see you go.”

Tony’s heart flutters wildly in his chest. “Well, you're lucky I'm so lacking in self-preservation instincts.”

“That I am,” Steve says, and Tony feels entirely overwhelmed by the intensity in Steve's blue, _blue_ eyes.

After a moment, Steve's expression turns chagrined. “I don't like to lie. Not to the people I care about, anyway.” That qualifier intrigues Tony. “That's why I do it. People don't tend to take it that well though.”

“Funny, that.”

“Yeah,” Steve replies dryly. “Can't imagine why that doesn't go over so well.”

“So who do you lie to?” Tony asks, only half-heartedly trying to keep the mischief out of his voice.

Steve flushes red. “Ah. Well. My enlistment forms, for one.”

“No shit!” Tony says gleefully.

“I used to have...medical problems that would have gotten me disqualified, so I bent the truth a little.”

“You lied to the _government._ ” Tony can't believe it. It's too good. Steve seems like such a goody-two-shoes.

“The government doesn't deserve the truth,” Steve says and Tony might just fall a teeny, tiny bit in love with him then. Guilt twists in his gut. The humor and mischief fades out of Steve's expression. “There are people out there laying down their lives for this country, and I don't have a right to do any less.”

It strikes Tony that it's entirely possible that Steve could have been one of the soldiers who had died in the caravan he'd been taken from. If he'd been stationed differently—

Tony has the sudden horrifying thought that it could have been one of _his_ weapons that cost Bucky his arm.

Steve frowns. “Are you okay, Tony?”

“Huh? Sure. Yeah,” Tony replies, but his mind is on the weapons the Ten Rings had had. The weapons that he had made. That had destroyed Gulmira. That could have taken Steve's best friend's arm. And his weapons are still _out there._

He feels sick.

“I've got something I need to do,” Tony says, and pushes abruptly to his feet. He feels awful for the astonishment on Steve's face, but he can't sit here and—

“Bye, Tony,” Steve calls after him, bewildered.


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meet cute take ii

Tony is on the way to Pepper's office when JARVIS says, “Sir, there appears to be a...situation forming.”

Before Tony can ask, JARVIS starts piping him audio.

“Are you fucking _brain-dead?_ It's been a goddamned half an hour, how _fucking_ long are you going to stare at it, shit-for-brains?”

Tony recognizes the voice and grimaces. Mike's been trouble since they hired him. What's he doing now?

That's when Tony hears a voice he doesn't recognize.

“Hey, buddy, what's your problem?”

 _To which one are you referring?_ Tony thinks darkly and picks up his pace. “Ashton,” he says in greeting as he strides past their desk.

“Potts, tell your guest this is none of his business.”

“I think I'd rather tell you to watch your language and your tone,” Pepper replies, and she's only just keeping the ice out of her voice. She hadn't wanted to hire Mike in the first place.

“Maybe if you didn't hire incompetents,” Mike sneers and Tony finally rounds the corner.

Mike is looming over the shoulder of a guy whom Tony recognizes, but can't remember the name of—he knows he's from IT. Pepper is standing in the door to her office looking tense enough to snap, and between them is a tall blond with an expression that says he's ready to whoop some ass.

“Problem?” Tony calls.

Everyone turns to look at him. Tony is decidedly _not_ fond of the way the IT guy blanches when he sees who's joined them. Fear is not an emotion Tony likes to see on the faces of those in his employ.

“Yeah, we have a problem,” Mike says, straightening up and buttoning his jacket. “Your CEO can't even hire people who know how to fix a goddamn computer.”

Before Tony can get a word out, the tall blond's eyes flash and he snaps, “I don't give a damn if he can fix your fuck up or not, there's no reason to talk to another human being like that. And as for Miss Potts, she seems to have more talent in her pinky than you do in your whole body.”

Tony has to bite down on a cackle of glee. Holy _shit._

Mike's face cycles between red and puce a few times before settling somewhere in the middle. “Nobody asked you!” His gaze snaps over to Tony and he points an imperious finger at the poor IT guy who looks like he'd just like to melt into the floor. “Get rid of him, Stark!”

The blond's eyes turn to assess Tony. “Oh, so you're Stark?”

“That's me,” Tony agrees. He can't wait to hear what's coming.

“Well, I think if you fire anyone, it should be him,” he says, and jerks his chin at Mike.

“Agreed,” Tony replies, and both the IT guy and Mike jerk in shock. Tony meets Mike's eye. “You're fired.”

Mike turns nearly purple with fury. “You can't fire me!”

“Sure can. Someone will see you out.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before security appears.

“Bye,” Tony says as he's escorted past.

“Tiberius will hear about this,” Mike hisses and Tony mutters grimly, “Oh, I have no doubt of that.”

When they're gone, Tony moves to where the IT guy is sitting, frozen. “Hey. What's your name?”

He darts a look up at Tony. “Fathi.”

“Nice to meet you. I apologize for that asshole. He shouldn't have spoken to you like that and I'm sorry I gave him the opportunity.”

“I-It's fine,” Fathi stammers, wide-eyed.

“It's not, but thanks. Take the rest of the day. I'll clear it with your supervisor. Won't cost any of your leave.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Tony taps him lightly on the shoulder with the back of his hand. “Tony. I think after this ordeal we're on first name basis, don't you?”

Fathi grins. “Okay...Tony.”

Tony grins back. “What did he do to that computer anyway?”

“Wiped it. I'm guessing he downloaded a virus with his porn. We've seen it on his machines before.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “How cliché.”

“We're lucky we gave him a machine that wasn't hooked into the system. Could have done a lot of damage.”

“And that's why I love you guys,” Tony says, drawing a heart over the left side of his chest. Fathi laughs and disappears around the corner.

“I didn't think you'd actually do it,” the blond says and Tony turns back to him. He looks impressed.

Tony sighs. “I should have done it sooner. I hired him as a favor and I've given him too many chances. Thanks for the kick in the ass.”

“Anytime,” the man says and there's a glint in his eye that makes Tony's heart do a funny jump.

“Thank _god_ he's gone,” Pepper says. “I hated that man.”

Tony ducks in before he can think better of it and kisses her cheek. “Sorry, Potts. I know you told me not to hire him.”

“You're forgiven, I suppose,” she says and pats his arm. “Now Steve, would you like to begin our meeting? I can push back my next appointment.”

“If that works for you.”

Pepper smiles and takes him by the elbow. “It does.”

“Guess I'll talk to you later then, hm?” Tony says and Pepper smiles her Mona Lisa smile at him.

Before they make it through the door, Steve pauses and turns back, holding his hand out to Tony. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mister Stark.”

“Likewise,” Tony says, shaking his hand. It's ordinary contact, but the look in Steve's eyes and the warm grip of his hand are anything but, sending a shower of electricity down Tony's shoulders.

It shocks Tony, and he stands there for a long time after the door closes.


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @tenebralunae inspired this short update with an amazing comment (thank you so much!!!!!!!)

"You know what I still don't get?"

Sam raises a hand. "Fifty bucks this has something to do with Stark."

"That's a sucker bet," Clint says, head hanging over the edge of the couch, his feet kicked up against the wall. "No dice."

Steve continues as though no one's spoken. "I don't get why Tony wasn't recommended for the Avengers. Iron Man would be a huge asset."

Nat doesn't look up from her phone, serene when she says, "He wasn't recommended for the Avengers because I assessed him and determined he'd be a liability."

Steve blinks at her. "You did what?"

Natasha looks up at him, her gaze cool. "I made the assessment three years ago. At the time he was actively dying of heavy metal poisoning and completely erratic. He made Pepper CEO, staged a drunken fight with Rhodes to hand over the War Machine armor, and then he got re-involved with Stone. He was unstable and Stone is someone who's been on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar for a long time because he's manipulative, power hungry, and we believe he has the potential to become dangerous. A Stark intimately involved with him couldn't be trusted."

Steve feels anger snap through him, flaring white-hot. "You knew he was getting involved with an abuser and you left him to it?"

Natasha doesn't even flinch as she gazes back. "He's a grown man. Besides, you only have to know Tony for two minutes before you know telling him what to do is going to get you nowhere fast."

Steve hates that she's right. "Why didn't you just get rid of Tiberius?" he demands and he knows why she didn't and it's ugly of him to even ask, but Natasha, again, is unshakably calm.

"I don't do that anymore," she says. "I'm not judge, jury, and executioner."

"Tiberius is the reason Tony couldn't get your recommendation! If he's out of the equation--"

Natasha's eyes and voice harden when she says, "If Tony isn't the one to remove him from the equation, the recommendation still stands. He'd still be a liability and it would just be a matter of time before a new Tiberius steps in. Tiberius is a symptom, not the problem."

"Tony's a good man," Steve says stubbornly, but he can sense his defeat. That doesn't mean he has to submit quietly.

"I know," Natasha says gently. "But he's also vulnerable and insecure and it makes him a liability. When he can see what Tiberius is--then I can recommend him. Not until then."

"It's not his fault," Steve protests.

"No, it's not."

Steve growls and clenches his fists. "'Ey, man," Sam calls, "keep a lid on it. I will take the deposit out of your share, don't think I won't."

Steve glares at him and then turns on his heel and yanks open the front door. He doesn't slam it closed, but it's a close thing. Fury and frustration is roaring through him in equal measures and he feels helpless like he used to. The serum isn't any good for this kind of problem.

Not knowing what else to do, Steve gets on his bike and starts to drive.


End file.
